Of Droids and Men
by MichaelTwoWolves
Summary: A Twi'lek slave, haunted by demons from her past, fights to avoid capture for being a Force-user, but the Empire is on her trail, as is a mysterious organization she knows about whose existence has remained a secret for three centuries. Set in 4 BBY in the Outer Rim, it's more serious than the usual SW fare, I hope. Deals with suicide and drug use, and the scars they leave behind.
1. Chapter 1

To all readers of this work, I humbly beg patience. It is my goal with this to be a full scale novel, and one in which I want to examine in detail the characters herein. For those of you who don't know who I am, I enjoy writing fiction as a hobby, and would love to one day get my material added to the Star Wars canon. I've come up with what I think are some pretty good ideas that, if published would put a whole new spin on droids, which I introduce in what follows.

I would be remiss if I didn't warn my readers that this is _not_ your typical Star Wars fluff. I am making a serious effort to develop fully humanized characters with all their flaws, some of which may not be suitable for children-a good example being a character introduced later on named Jaslin Paradas, a female Imperial Naval officer who is also a ryl spice junkie and is trying to keep her direct superior from finding out, though her superiors far higher up know of it and use her addiction to keep her in line. What I am saying is this: this is a **darker** version of Star Wars that focuses on the flaws that make us all human, so reader be warned.

I'm not sure how a synopsis works on , but if I had to publish one, it would look like this:

_Of Droids and Men chronicles the fallout of the Rise of the Empire on a personal level, showing that beneath the shiny white exterior of the Palpatine's reign lies corruption and hardship on both sides of the conflict. As an unknown military power called the Ion Ascendancy struggles with what it means to be human, not as a species, but as a concept, they search for an emotionally traumatized Jensaari apprentice who knows too much about them and threatens the secret of their existence that has lasted for three centuries. She, in turn, is hunted by a vicious Inquisitor whose own apprentice struggles with addiction and self-loathing. The young Jensaari is forced to take shelter with a smuggler whose past is not what it seems-a human known as much for his ways with the ladies as for his incredible skill at evading Imperial entanglements. It's a life he's carefully crafted after escaping Order 66, but helping her threatens to bring chaos back into his life after struggling for years to make peace with his own existence and failings. Set against the backdrop of scum and villainy in the Outer Rim four years before the Battle of Yavin, the race is on to see who reaches the Jensaari girl first-the Empire, who want her turned or dead, or the Ion Ascendancy, whose intentions are a mystery?_

Feel free to tell me what you think; just be gentle, dear readers, as I am trying to craft something special and capture lightning in a bottle. Is there something that you really liked? Something you didn't? Your comments will help hone my writing (hopefully), making for a better product overall. I'm perfectly willing to entertain constructive criticism, but please don't just say, _I hated that chapter, _or _I thought that _[insert noun] _was crap._ Tell me in detail why you thought this and give me a convincing argument why it should be different. I may change it if there is good enough reason, especially if there is a glaring canonical error.

Also, please do not take offense if I don't post too many comments like these...I would like to let my work stand on it's own without too much information. If you absolutely must know the answer to a burning question, PM me and I will try to answer it with ruining any surprises I have in store for you.

Thank you, and enjoy! Without further ado, I give you Star Wars: Of Droids and Men! Now, cue the music...!

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**Chapter One**

Circa 5 BBY, somewhere between Ryloth and Drexel…

A small freighter came out of hyperspace at the edge of an uncharted planetary system. The ship wasn't pretty, resembling an ugly green brick that tapered to a blunted point at the front end where the cockpit was located. _MUD DUCK_ was painted on its side in sloppy yellow letters, and the engine exhaust ports were thickly coated with blackened crud. The SoroSuub NUB-7 wasn't designed to be aesthetically pleasing; it had been built during the build-up to the Clone Wars, and engineered to be durable. Aesthetic values had taken a backseat to defense capabilities, and this particular ship exemplified that utter lack of beauty.

Its pilot and owner was Lan Feldris, a human hyperspace scout and member of the august Hyperspace Navigators Guild—one of its best pilots, in his opinion, and he wasn't even a Duro. He didn't need to be able to calculate hyperspace coordinates in his head like those gray-skin, big-headed aliens were reputed to be able to do. His ship had enough sophisticated scanner equipment in it to make an Imperial exo-scout blush in shame, and he'd just purchased a state-of-the-art navicomputer custom built by the Xi Char. Stang, but that had cost a pretty penny.

His red and white R2 droid warbled questioningly.

"What do you mean, are we lost yet?" he scoffed, checking the scanners to make sure that there was no debris he was in imminent danger of running into. He took a bite of the happy-patty from Biscuit Baron. "I know _exactly_ where we are. A thousand light years above the galactic plane, a third of the way from Ryloth to Drexel." He finished the sandwich and tossed the wrapper over his shoulder to join the rest of the trash littering the inside of the ship. "I'll reach Drexel long before that garbage-scow pilot, Lira Becket." He grinned at the thought of the cute guildswoman stamping her little foot in anger because he'd beaten her once again, and this route would be far more valuable than the small-time routes around Arkanis. He couldn't help it that he was the best there was.

The droid whistled a doubtful, four-note comment.

He laughed. "Really, TooGee? She's good, but she's not as good as me." He switched the sensors to scan-mode and pressed the REC button to begin recording everything.

The sensor computers went to work, documenting the minor gravitational fluctuations of the red point of light at the center of the system to count the number of bodies in orbit. He knew they weren't going to find much, though; a red dwarf's planets were usually nothing but scorched rocks, and there was rarely any gas giants or asteroid belts, things that might have resource value.

Too bad, he thought. The guild paid out bonuses for discovering planets and other objects on a sliding scale, with habitable planets bringing in tens of thousands of credits. The real money, though, was in selling those charts on the black market to smugglers and pirates; they paid handsomely for new places to hide from the Empire or build a base, and often didn't care about habitability, which could turn a barren system like this into quick cash.

He stood up. "Come on, you old clanker," he sighed, patting the droid affectionately atop its dome. "Let's go see where we're going next." It would take several hours for the ship's sensor array to fully document the system, but he was far ahead of schedule and wanted to make a copy of the location and characteristics of this system. He had a certain customer-cum-pirate in mind that he could sell the data to for some money.

He headed into the dimly-lit main hold, which was cramped from the large holoprojector he'd installed awhile back. More fast food litter was strewn about the floor here, too. He'd have to clean soon, but why do today what he could put off until tomorrow? Besides, his version of cleaning wasn't all that hard—go into space, lock up everything valuable, and open the main cargo door to blow all the litter into the void. Worked every time.

He activated the holoprojector, and a star-field appeared above it, a green arrow in the center of it indicating his current location. A red line extended away from the arrow and off the side, delineating his flight path from Ryloth. He tapped a button and the view zoomed in until the solar system was displayed, showing a red dwarf at its center.

"Only one planet so far," he mused. It was far too close to the star to be of any value whatsoever, pirate or otherwise.

TooGee buzz-chirped.

"What do you mean, we've been lucky so far?" he scoffed.

More warbling.

"Hey, that could've happened to anyone! It's not my fault that there was an asteroid field there." He went to the chill-box and took out a bottle of Hoth Iced Ale. "The charts were old, and we came out all right." The droid had been referring to an asteroid field they'd found several jumps back that wasn't indicated on some drift charts he'd purchased on Ryloth from a rather shady twi'lek named Doolan.

The R2 whistled dubiously.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to avoid that star cluster. We could've cut closer and shaved some time off the transit."

The droid buzzed rudely and rolled over to the holoprojector, plugged into the SCOMP link, and brought up the star chart again.

"What spectral anomalies ahead?"

A red circle appeared around a tiny pink blob, which grew magnified, resolving into a vast nebula. The droid chirped.

"Are you rusty?" he laughed. "That's the Vega Nebula! The whole area is riddled with hyperspace anomalies, but it's way below the galactic plane. We won't be anywhere near it."

The Vega Nebula had been discovered by a Duro hyperspace scout named Nolo Vega almost a thousand years ago. It was a vast reddish cloud that acted as a giant stellar nursery, home to hundreds of protostars and pulsars, and was surrounded by countless hyperspace anomalies, nearly invisible dust clouds, and who knew what other dangers. There'd been rumors that pirates had once used the nebula as a base, but he was pretty sure that was a load of grade A bantha plop. They would have to have nerves of durasteel when flying through that soup.

There was only one way he knew of to reach the nebula without frying a hyperdrive core or having the sensors scorched blind from all the radiation pouring out of the protostars, and even he didn't know the _exact_ route because it changed dramatically over as little as weeks thanks to the stellar winds. Vega had only reached the nebula through blind luck, and the route he'd used had long since vanished due to stellar and galactic drift.

The only reason it wasn't being explored by the Empire was because it was almost impossible to reach unless you had intimate knowledge of the very near proximity, and it was in a strategically unimportant region of space at the edge of the galaxy. Moreover, being a stellar nursery, it was unlikely to have any resources that wouldn't require more sums of money to exploit than could be made from profit, so there was no incentive to find a route to it.

The droid shrilled a rapid-fire series of tones.

"Radio communications?" he laughed. "Are you serious? There's _nothing_ there, pal. You're hearing bursts of radio-frequency noise from the pulsars."

TooGee chirped indignantly.

"I didn't _say_ that, you tin can! I said you're hearing pulsars! That's why there appears to be patterns—they pulse in strange, repeating rhythms that are very unique."

More electronic protests came from the droid.

"Yeah? Then what language were these so-called communications in?"

The droid issued a series of stuttering buzzes.

He laughed and threw up his hands. "I didn't say you were a 3PO droid. Relax, will you? All I am saying is that you're chasing phantoms. Trust me on this. There's nothing in the nebula." He took a sip of the ale.

The ship's proximity alarm went off.

"Stang!" he yelled, jumping up and running to the cockpit. Nothing had hit the ship, thankfully, but what could it be? he wondered, looking out the front. His jaw dropped at what he saw to port. "Palpatine's beard!"

Less than ten kilometers away was an old _Venator_-class Star Destroyer, or had been. Its hull surface was knobby and resembled coral growth from the extensive durasteel plate patches welded on. The red paint and emblems of the Grand Army of the Republic were gone, replaced by a strange, segmented blue triangle-on-white-circle symbol. The most dramatic change, though, was that the twin conning towers at the back of the ship were still there, but had been joined at the top to form one large, wide bridge, resembling the more modern Star Destroyers' superstructure.

He suddenly had a bad feeling about this. "Hail them, TooGee," he said, hopping into the pilot's chair. He banked the ship to port to pass alongside the Star Destroyer so that they could get a good sensor reading on him. His transponder was clearly labeled HNG, so he was immune to most regional governments when conducting official hyperspace scouting business.

He checked the Star Destroyer's transponder, too, but the computer squawked in protest, telling him that it didn't recognize the signal.

The droid warbled negatively.

"No response, huh? What about other channels? No? Well, try using the emergency channel."

The computer beeped as the overload alarm went off, blowing several breakers.

"Blast!" he yelled, ice forming in the pit of his stomach. "They're jamming us! Put up the deflectors!" He pushed the throttle wide open and the engines roared to life, rumbling through the floor and rocketing the ship forward. "Get us out of here, TooGee!"

The droid trilled nervously.

"I don't know! Back the way we came! Anywhere is better than—"

The ship lurched and the controls flickered as ion fire crackled over the surface of the ship. The engines sputtered.

"Oh, no you don't," he hissed, backing the throttle off, then pushing it forward again. The engines roared back to life, but a beeping alarm drew his eyes to the indicator board. "Aw, son of a—"

The R2 shrilled.

"Yeah, I see it! I see it!" The hyperdrive was off-line. He banked sharply and headed into the system, hoping for an asteroid belt or an ice ring around a planet he could hide in. "We haven't done anything, and there's no sector authority out here, so I don't know who these _abos_ are."

He flipped several breakers, trying to restore power to the radio, which suddenly crackled to life. A woman's voice came on as her image appeared above the mini-holoprojector. "Attention, _Mud Duck_," the red-skinned twi'lek woman said, turning away to talk to someone off-image. "_Mud Duck_? Really?" she sneered. "Ridiculous." She turned back to face him. "Attention, _Mud Duck_. You have entered restricted space. Power down your engines, lower your shields, and prepare for boarding." She wore a royal blue uniform from the Alderaanian navy, which had been disbanded after the Clone Wars.

He doubted that she'd ever been in the Alderaanian navy. He toggled the radio. "Look, whoever you are. I am Lan Feldris of the Hyperspace Navigators Guild, charter number esk-esk-seven-five—"

"I don't give a flying bantha about you or your charter," the twi'lek snapped. "You are under arrest, and you are my prisoner. If you flee, I'll be more than glad to do the galaxy a favor by ridding it of that rancor-ugly ship! Cut transmission!" The image vanished.

"Angle the deflectors to the rear, TooGee," he said as more bluish ion fire streaked past all around the ship. He began to rock the ship up and down and from side to side in what he hoped were good defensive maneuvers. "Have you got the hyperspace coordinates, yet?" His ship had several quasi-legal modifications that allowed it to fly like a Nubian fighter, but he was no star jockey.

The droid chirped.

"Thirty sec—! We don't _have_ thirty seconds, in case you haven't noticed!" It was only a matter of time before they were pulsed by one of those ion cannons, and then it was game over. These people obviously had no respect for the Hyperspace Navigators Guild, so he doubted he would be greeted with smiles. Stupid Lira Becket. She was the one who challenged him to this ridiculous contest, knowing full well she couldn't win. This was her fault!

TooGee warbled warningly.

"Oh, wonderful," he groaned, wishing now that he'd bought a fourth-degree droid to man the servo-turrets. Fighters were the last thing he needed.

The ship rocked violently and the lights flickered as three _Vulture_-class droid fighters screamed by, targeting him with their ion blasters.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled in frustration. "That ain't kiffing fair!" Where in blazes had they dug those things up? And who'd modified them to have ion blasters? "Have you re-initialized the hyperdrive core?"

The droid whistled affirmative.

His heart raced as he began a series of maneuvers he hoped would keep the fighters from hitting him again. He tried the emergency radio channel, and this time, the radio's front panel exploded in a shower of sparks as the _Venator_ jammed his transmissions again. Well, it wasn't really like there was anyone else to hear him out here.

Suddenly, the ship lurched and began shaking as the engines struggled against the tractor beam they'd locked onto him, though this lasted only a brief second until the ship was hit in rapid succession by multiple ion pulses. The lights went out as the power died.

"Well, that's the end of _that_," he said, fear clenching his stomach as he watched the Star Destroyer approach, growing bigger as the tractor beam reeled him in. "This is bad," he groaned, panic rising in his throat.

The droid agreed with a doleful whistle.

He grabbed an emergency lantern out of a stowage box and turned it on, then tried the auxiliary radio, which was shielded and ran on a battery, but its range didn't extend out of the system, and there were no friendlies around. He activated the landing gears as his ship floated serenely through the nose door of the _Venator_, which had its atmospheric containment field activated.

The _Mud Duck_ was set down gently in the center of the long hangar bay. Outside the windows, he could see at least one hundred black-lacquered B1 battle droids in squared groups of twenty, each armed with a blaster rifle.

"Poodoo," he swore, running into the main hold and lifting a floor plate to reveal a hidden compartment. He pulled out an E-11 blaster rifle, bought off of one of his customers, and activated it, then ran back into the cockpit in time to see another squad of four B1 battle droids—these red-lacquered—followed by the twi'lek woman, come marching through a side door.

What in blazes had he stumbled into? This was no small-time pirating operation or smuggler's base. This had all the trappings of a military organization. This shouldn't be happening, he cursed under his breath. He was just a scout! His hands trembled as he held the blaster rifle; he'd never thought he'd need it. "Record everything, TooGee!"

The twi'lek woman walked up to the front of the ship, just below the cockpit, and looked up at him. She lifted a hand-held radio. "Open the doors, _Mud Duck_," she ordered imperiously, her voice coming through the emergency back-up radio in the cockpit.

He tried to think of who controlled this region of space, but it was empty, or supposed to be. There wasn't supposed to be anyone out here, so who were these people? He presumed there were more—it couldn't just be her. He toggled the radio. "Um, I think this has all been just a big misunderstanding. I'm a hyperspace scout and—"

"There's been no misunderstanding," the woman said, cutting him off. "Open the door and come out with your hands up, or I'll blow the doors myself." She held up a thermal detonator for him to see.

His eyes widened. "Stang, woman!" he shouted in alarm. That thermal detonator would do more than just blow the door open! He broke into a cold sweat. "Okay, okay! Just relax!" he said. "What assurances do I have that you won't harm me?"

She laughed scornfully. "You get none! Now, open that kiffing door and get your carcass out here, without that rifle in your hands, or I will assure you that you _will_ be damaged!"

He sighed. "Trapped between a bantha and a rancor," he muttered. If he survived this, he swore he was retiring and moving to—

"Now, _Mud Duck!_"

"Fine! I'm coming out!" He stood up. "Go hide in the engine room, TooGee."

The droid trilled its agreement.

He tossed the rifle in the main hold and went to the airlock, opening it and lowering the ramp, then walked down it and stood on the deck with his palms up. In the hangar, all trappings of the GAR were gone, and there were dozens of regular and droid starfighters. Strange, geometric patterns adorned the bulkheads and beams, resembling a series of triangles oriented in different directions, some filled in. His heart pounded in his ears as the woman stalked over, escorted by her battle droids, and he noted her malevolent grin. "My name is Lan Feldris. I have no contraband aboard my ship. Well, the rifle, but that's it. I have my license—"

"Shut up, you kiffing meat bag," she snarled, snatching a rifle from a battle droid and aiming it at him.

"No, wait!" he started to say.

She fired. There was a flash of white, then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

One year later…

Located in the seamy, twilight depths of Denon's planet-wide cityscape, in the heart of a district known by locals as the Gnaw due to its high scurrier population, the Blue Nebula Cantina was well-known in the criminal underworld as a discrete hangout for all manner of scum and villainy. It was a place where business could be conducted without fear of eavesdropping or interruption, and almost as important, the glasses in which refreshments were served were clean. Owned and operated by a Black Sun operative named Beriska, a tall, muscular feeorin woman, the cantina was just one of countless such business-fronts owned by the criminal syndicate scattered up and down the Corellian Run.

From the outside, there was no sign it was a cantina, just a square, glazed black tile painted with an electric blue spiral galaxy above the door. Inside, however, the door was guarded by a hulking barabel named Sala, and was shadowy and crowded with a motley assortment of rogue and scoundrels drinking and talking quietly. Illumination came from the lumi-lamps in the booths along the right wall, the soft white glow of the tops of the tables in the middle of the oblong cantina, and from the blue neon tubing above the bar along the left wall. Streamers of blue t'bac smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the smells of alcohol and unwashed bodies.

Drifting in and around the crowd were numerous serving girls of varying species, all of whom wore slave collars and rather scant outfits. One tall, statuesque togruta stood behind the bar, serving drinks to the thirsty customers. She wore a tiny leather jerkin with a low-cut front and lace-up sides that looked strained to keep covered her considerable assets, which she flaunted outrageously as she leaned over the bar to flirt with the patrons.

_Schutta_, Mika thought disdainfully, shaking her head at Danya Kotaro's shameless behavior. Given a choice, she would never wear the white one-piece body stocking that hugged her own slender form. Its fabric was nearly sheer, and it was open on the sides from under her arms down to the garment's thigh-cuffs, and in the front, a deep V dipped well below her navel, showing off far more blue skin than Mika was comfortable with. Danya, though, seemed to relish the attention from the drunken, leering _abos_ that patronized the Blue Nebula.

Scowling, she flicked her lekku at the togruta dismissively, then loaded the three mugs of beer onto her tray and headed to the table with a trio of balosars already in their cups.

A pair of humans grinned at her as she glided past, not bothering to hide their leers.

Her face grew hot as she studiously ignored them—stang, she hated working in the bar area. She'd insisted on outfits which covered her back, though, and thankfully, Beriska had agreed to her wishes—no need to flaunt _that_ disaster; she would die of embarrassment if she had to come out with her back exposed. It was an ugly reminder of a past that she was doing her best to forget about.

The balosars were laughing about something as she came over; probably me, she thought self-consciously. They smelled of machine grease and starship fuel, but it was a sure bet that they weren't mechanics—she'd yet to meet a balosar who did an honest day's work. Judging by the bulges of hold-out blasters in their jacket pockets, they were probably thieves or smugglers, though in this cantina, such professions weren't mutually exclusive.

"Here's your drinks," she said, setting the mugs down. "Six credits."

The balosar on her left grinned and tossed a ten-credit note on the tray. "Stay 'n keep us company, and there's more for ya," he said drunkenly.

She tucked the ten-credit note under her _chan'dar,_ or headdress. "No, thanks."

"Aw, c'mon," the balosar on her right said. "Nothin' wrong wi' a pretty girl in yer lap!" He reached to grab her, but she stepped sideways.

"Keep your kiffing hands to yourself!" she snapped, her anger bubbling up to the surface. She started to turn away and jumped with a yelp as the balosar on her left slid a hand through the side opening of her body stocking, grabbing her backside and pulling her towards him.

All three of them laughed uproariously.

Mika, however, felt her face burn as tears welled up in humiliation. Then, rage took over. Snarling, she grabbed one of the balosar's antenna-palps and twisted, making him cry out in pain.

"Ow, you—" he began to howl.

"Shut up!" she hissed, squeezing the antenna. "Take your hand off my ass before I rip _this_ off and feed it to you!" She yanked once for good measure.

The balosar, eyes squinted in agony, withdrew his hand.

Through her tears, she could see Danya at the bar, looking at her and shaking her head. Several other patrons were watching, too, adding to the embarrassment. "You kiffing lizard!" she spat, shoving his head away and stalking off. The sound of the other two balosars laughing and making snide comments followed her, only adding to her sense of humiliation.

She stormed into the employee's refresher unit, locking herself into one of the stalls, then sat on the lid of the commode and covered her face. There, she wept silently. That filthy rycrit! she raged, wanting to shred that blasted balosar like she should've shredded that zabrak so long ago. They had brought back all those horrible memories, especially the memory of feeling unclean for so long.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away as fast as she could, both ashamed of, and angry at, herself. She hated the feeling of being weak and powerless. She'd been with Beriska for a year and had no friends, no one she dared trust. If they knew what she really was, they would hate her just as much as she hated them, so she had no one to talk to and relieve the awful loneliness and fear.

Just then, the door to the refresher opened, and Mika lifted her feet off the floor and held her breath as someone walked in. Please, don't let it be the balosars, she prayed silently, feeling her panic rising.

"Mika?" a familiar voice asked.

She exhaled wearily and set her feet on the floor. "Go away, Danya."

"Beriska wanted to know if you're okay," she said. "You've got to learn to handle those situations better."

Her eyes bulged in rage. "Me?" she snarled. "Get out, you bantha!" She punched the stall door, shaking the walls that it was attached to. How dare she try to pin that on her!

"Whatever," scoffed Danya, quickly leaving.

She screamed and punched the door again for good measure, then cried out softly at the pain in her fist. She just wanted to slap that stupid togruta! The only reason she was working behind the bar, safe from the customers and their roving hands was because of her impressive chest. Put her out among the patrons and let's see how long she goes without getting groped!

Taking several deep breaths, she sought the center of calm within as she'd been taught. She unclenched her fists and wiped away the tears. Even with having to deal with _sleemo_ customers, she was still better off with Beriska, who didn't beat her or humiliate her, or try to break her as others had. She had her own bed, not some filthy, lice-ridden mat in a dark corner; she could bathe whenever she wanted, and had clean clothes; and she was well-fed on real food, not scurrier-on-a-stick or something equally repulsive. Plus, she was paid a modest salary, and was given a modicum of freedom to go out and do as she liked on her free time. It was far better than things could've turned out, or how things had once been.

She looked at the six, five-centimeter long scars in a row on the inside of her left forearm. One of the scars was still scabbed over. She was half-tempted to add a new one, or deepen an old one, but she didn't have her knife with her. Looking at them, she could feel the heaviness settle over her shoulders again. Unlike the ruined mess that was her back, these scars were made by her choice, not forced upon her, a pain delicious and terrible at the same time because the temptation was always there to keep going deeper, to feel that pain just a little keener. When the dark crimson would well up and her arm throbbed with a high, thin, thrumming note of aching pain, it was a reminder of all that she'd endured, and she was still alive despite it all.

Beriska had found out about the scars early on from Isara, a small human woman with short, spiky blonde hair who worked nights displaying her chest for the customers to leer at. Mika had wanted to bash her head in when she'd found out that Isara had been the one to snitch on her. Beriska had been furious, and threatened to bear her if she caught her cutting her arms again. So Mika had stopped, but the drive to feel that cleansing pain was getting strong again.

She would train tonight, she decided. She'd push herself hard, and if she did well, she'd reward herself with the knife. She'd bleed for the ones she'd lost, the ones she'd loved and had vowed to one day find again—her parents, her sister—the ones she'd give anything to see again.

She listened to make sure no one else was in the refresher, then unlocked the stall and went over to the sink. She rinsed her face with warm water, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her dark eyes were red from crying, though since she never wore makeup, she never had to worry about it running.

She examined her hand, and it was a little swollen, but luckily, nothing too bad. It didn't hurt to move the fingers, so she ran it under some cold water until she couldn't take it anymore, then dried off and exited the refresher.

As she made her way through the kitchen to pour herself some cold gizer ale, she could hear the jukebox blaring out "The Corellian Boogie." At least it wasn't "Dance of the Barefoot Twi'lek." If she had to listen to that stupid song one more kiffing time—

"There you are," Beriska said, stepping out of the hallway to her office. "What were you doing in there?"

"Using the facilities, or isn't that allowed?"

"Don't crack wise with me, girl. I'm concerned, and you should be thankful that someone is."

Mika was about to continue on past Beriska, but then Danya stepped out from behind the feeorin. The togruta looked at Mika as if she were a feral animal. She sidled by and glanced at Mika's arms, and sighed.

Instantly, Mika's rage exploded; she knew that Danya had snitched her out. "You kiffing _schutta!"_ she snarled, lunging at the togruta with a speed that surprised even Beriska.

Beriska, however, was faster still, and snatched her up in a bear-hug before she could get to the frightened Danya. She spun Mika around, putting her against the wall to pin her, but Mika fought like a Corellian sand panther, trying to kick free and managing to knock some pans off of a metal rack which clanged loudly on the floor.

"I'll kill you," Mika screamed. "You fat nerf! You scurrier! You—"

"Enough!" Beriska shouted. "Stop it! Hey! Knock it off, Mika!"

She almost managed to twist free, and shouted, "Don't even look at me anymore, you filthy rycrit!"

Danya fled around a corner.

"Knock it off, girl! Stop it!" Beriska grabbed her by the collar and slapped her.

Shocked, Mika sagged and held the side of her face as tears welled up. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of letting someone see her cry, especially Beriska.

"What in the flaming void has gotten into you, girl?" She grabbed Mika's arm and pushed her into the office, then closed the door behind her. "Sit down!"

Mika sat on the soft, bantha-leather couch as told, and angrily wiped away the tears. The office had always been a place she'd enjoyed visiting, with its large aquarium behind Beriska's desk filled with an amazing variety of colorful fish, and the soothing, muted earth colors of the walls. Now, though, she just wanted to run away. Worse, the fear of consequence grew in her and she began wondering if Beriska was going to sell her off to be someone else's problem.

Beriska leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms, focusing her glare on Mika. "What am I going to do with you? What _should_ I do with you?"

She just looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as the fear gnawed at her. She'd learned long ago that when your owner was deciding your fate, it was better to make yourself as small as possible.

"Let me see your arm."

She darted a glance at Beriska, but said nothing.

The feeorin sighed and grabbed her arm, but not too roughly, and inspected the scars. "I meant what I said, too. If I find fresh scars on your arm, I _will_ take you over my knee."

"I'm not a child," she finally said, her voice sullen.

"No, but you act like it sometimes." She released her arm. "And when you do, I'm going to treat you like one."

"I haven't done anything, no matter what that lying _schutta_ says."

"That's enough!" the older woman snapped suddenly. "I'll not have you running around calling her a whore. She is no such thing, and is probably the best friend you could have in here, if you'd only give her a chance." She leaned back against the desk and crossed her arms once more, though her glare had softened.

She'd hated Danya even before this. The togruta was about forty-five centimeters taller than her, and was always talking down to her. "Whatever she said was a lie."

Beriska scoffed. "What, that you were in the refresher, punching the stall because some _sleemos_ groped you? Don't give me that look, either, because that's exactly what she said."  
"Why are you covering for her?" she said. "I know she came running in here to tattle like a little girl." She jumped when Beriska slapped the desk with an open hand.

"Don't insinuate that I'm lying to you! So help me, girl, you're this close to getting it! For your information, Danya came in here to tell me that those balosars were a little too free with their hands, and that when you ran into the refresher, she went after you to see if you were okay, and you became violent." She grabbed Mika's arm again. "She didn't say anything about these. I asked because for some inexplicable reason, I actually _like_ you, though the Divine knows that you don't make it easy!"

Mika glowered down at the floor. She found it hard to believe that the togruta wouldn't snitch her out, just like Isara had done.

Aasha, a younger, green-skinned twi'lek slave, knocked on the door and poked her head into the office. "Um, Beriska? We need to replace the kegs on a couple of the taps." She darted a glance at Mika, who shot her a hateful glare.

"Then, have Sala help you."

"Sure thing." She closed the door.

She sat next to Mika and wrapped an arm around her. "Look, Mika, I don't know much about you because you won't talk about your past."

Mika stiffened.

"Relax, will you? Your secrets are your own. I'm only saying that eventually, you're going to have trust someone. You've been here a year, and you've yet to make a single friend."

"Friends are overrated," she muttered.

She chuckled. "Sometimes they are a pain in the rump, but just remember that Danya and the others aren't your enemies. I don't want to hear about you fighting with them anymore, especially Isara of Danya. Izzie doesn't need another black eye."

Mika laughed scornfully. "She should've kept her mouth shut." She would've done more than blacken Isara's eye if she hadn't run away.

"No, she shouldn't have!" she said angrily. "I don't want you scarring yourself. I mean it, Mika. Do we have an understanding?" She lifted Mika's chin with a finger to look her in the eye. "Well?"

She met the feeorin's care-worn eyes and sighed. "Fine, but I still don't like 'em."

"If you gave Danya half a chance, you might change your mind."

"Never."

It was Beriska's turn to sigh. "It's the end of your shift, so go upstairs and relax." She stood up and opened the office door.

"Can I go out for a while?"

"Go on," she said, nodding towards the door and turning her attention to the stack of flimsiplast on her desk.

Mika went upstairs using the back staircase. She knew exactly where she wanted to go, but she wanted to shower first and dress in something a little more appropriate for what she had in mind—dark colors so that she'd blend into the shadows of the city nightlife.

On the second floor were a series of rooms arranged around a circular central room with a holoprojector at its center. Around the holoprojector were several couches and overstuffed chairs, and there were several girls lounging in them, including Aasha. They all quieted as Mika came in—she hated that. She knew they'd been talking about her by the guilty looks on their faces. She ignored them and walked around the periphery of the room, past a billiards table, and through a door to the dorm, flicking her lekku in a rude gesture as she exited the room. _Schuttas_, she thought bitterly.

Their dorm was long and narrow, with a large refresher room at the far end and a bank of high, curtained windows on one side that admitted the wan gray light of the fading day. Two rows of bunk beds ran down the length of the room, each with a double locker at their feet. Several girls were asleep, snoring softly and trying to catch up on slumber on their off days. Mika's bunk was the one in the corner near the refresher room door.

As Mika prepared her things to go shower, Danya came out, a towel wrapped around her. She froze when she saw Mika, who studiously ignored her. The togruta hurried to her bunk several beds down.

She shot a glare at Danya's naked orange back as the woman dried off, then dismissed her and donned her robe before shrugging out of her body stocking. No need to put _her_ backside on display and invite ridicule. It would only give those catty nerfs more to talk about.

After luxuriating in the sani-steam, she dressed in an outfit consisting of a plum-colored durasilk shirt; tight, black durafiber pants; a clean but worn pair of sneakers; a black leather jacket she'd picked up in a thrift store; and a soft, brown leather _chan'dar_ to hold her long and shaperly lekku in place.

Checking to make sure no one was watching, she reached under the frame of the bunk where she had a vibro-knife with a fifteen centimeter blade in a leather sheath taped to the underside. She tucked the blade into the back of her pants; she never went anywhere without it. Weapons were prohibited by Beriska, but Mika had lived on the streets of Nar Shadda, and knew better than to go unarmed in the Gnaw, especially at night.

Outside the cantina, night had fallen, and the Gnaw was lit up with street lights and gaudy neon signs advertising all manner of diversions meant to appeal to the senses, from cheap booze to live shows featuring exotic dancing girls. Airspeeders whisked past above and below the level of the sidewalk, just beyond its edge. A good number of pedestrians were out and about, some walking like her, others that had stopped to talk or window shop. The air was chill and reeked of airspeeder exhaust and fried food from the greasy spoon diner up the block. Worst was the constant dampness that was ever present, adding the aroma of wet pavement to the mélange of city smells.

Mika walked past numerous hawkers selling everything from fake expensive chronometers to burn-out credit chits. Anyone fool enough to use them deserved to get busted by the Imperials, she thought, looking at the shoddy fakes. She moved on, blending into the crowd again and leaving the Blue Nebula behind. Her collar barely raised an eyebrow as slaves were common enough this far down, though in the higher levels, the Imperials had banned the practice. At least, where humans were concerned; aliens they didn't give a flying nerf about.

She stopped at a street vendor selling roast bantha sandwiches, her stomach growling in anticipation. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it wasn't good to train on an empty stomach. Plus, the smells were mouth-watering. "How much?" she asked the besalisk vendor in accented Basic.

"Two credits," he rumbled. Two of his hands were busy preparing extra sandwiches and setting them aside while the other two wiped themselves on a towel. "Three for five."

"Deal." She pulled out a bill-fold from her pants-pocket and handed him a five-credit note.

"Good bantha," the vendor said amiably. Besalisks loved to chit-chat. "I've got a connection with an importer top-side." While he tucked the money away with one hand, the other three went to work bagging up three sandwiches in a white paper sack for her, along with a wad of napkins.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the bag and moving on. She doubted that the besalisk had any such connection top-side, or even anywhere near the upper reaches of Denon's cityscape. The higher one went, the more affluent the neighborhoods became. Still, the sandwiches smelled tantalizing, and while she didn't like spending her hard-earned money as she rarely got tips, she hadn't wanted to hang out to eat in the cantina's kitchen where she would undoubtedly run into Isara, who was working the night shift.

She ducked down an alley and climbed a fire escape, sitting on the stairs and remaining motionless for several long moments, watching to make sure there was no one around. Old habits die hard, and she didn't like eating where other people could find her. Back in the depths of Nar Shadda, the Smuggler's Moon, she'd lived as a teenager in a disused storm drain and learned to hide her food when she ate so other vagrants wouldn't try to steal it or take it by force.

The sandwiches were indeed delicious, and the bantha surprisingly high-quality. She made a mental note to visit that besalisk again as she licked the juice from her fingers. Much better than the scurrier kabobs she'd steal from a toydarian who lived two storm drains over. She tore into the second sandwich and grinned as the juice ran down her chin. She was glad the besalisk had included napkins. The short order chefs hired by Beriska had nothing on these sandwiches.

She froze. Something had rattled below her, a can, maybe. She slowly glanced down and squinted. A grubby human girl came into view, dressed in rags, unaware that she was being observed. She looked around cautiously, then lifted the lid off a dumpster and poked around inside.

How often had that been her? Mika thought to herself. It was all too easy to remember how she'd done the same, half-crazed with hunger and paranoid of any sudden noise. Shaking her head, she hissed.

The girl's head shot up instantly, quickly gazing around for a threat.

"Hey, you hungry?"

The girl looked up at her, fear in her eyes.

"Here. It's a sandwich." She held up the wrapped food, then tossed it down to the girl, who snatched it and bolted. Sighing in contentment and feeling pleasantly full, she stood up and tossed the bag into the dumpster, then climbed off the fire escape. Moments later, she was just another face in the crowd.

The air had continued to grow cooler, so she turned her collar up and put her hands in her pockets. At a corner, she took the stairs down two levels, then crossed the sky bridge to another block and hurried on. She hoped no one had been in her spot—squatters were almost as numerous as the scurries that gave the Gnaw its name. Her gear was well-hidden, or the important stuff was, at least, but she still worried.

She suddenly felt like she was being watched and darted a quick glance behind her. It wasn't impossible that some would-be stick-up artists might try to bother her, but most would see the collar and think twice. Most slaves down in the Gnaw were owned by Black Sun, directly or indirectly, and taking what belonged to Black Sun was a good way to wind up missing.

Mika didn't see anyone who looked like they might be following her, though the feeling persisted. She changed her route to the warehouse, taking a twisting, turning path until she was sure no one was following her, then continued on.

The warehouse was built into the side of one of the massive buildings that comprised the majority of the structures on Denon. She'd found the place while wandering around one night not long ago after Beriska had purchased her from Drafulla the Hutt, and had been coming here once or twice a week ever since.

On a darkened street, she quickly darted into the inky shadows of a narrow alley, her sensitive eyes adjusting and mitigating the darkness. The alley was little-used, which suited her just fine, and branched off into a small cul-de-sac barricaded with a rusty cyclone fence. She avoided stepping in several oily puddles and hopped the fence, landing nimbly on the other side.

The entrance to the warehouse was a sliding door that she'd recently fitted with a new chain and shielded lock the size of her fist. She pulled out a code cylinder and opened the lock, then removed the chain and went inside, closing the door behind her. It was pitch black inside so she dropped the chain and pulled out a small glowrod.

There was no electricity to the warehouse, but she didn't need it, having long ago searched out and memorized its dimensions. It was approximately fifteen meters wide, thirty long, and twenty high, with a large office complex off to the right along the side. Dozens of empty crates a meter on a side had been left behind and were thickly coated with dust and grime; it had been many years since anyone had been in here but her.

The place just smelled old, like old machinery and dust, and in the distance, she could hear the whoosh of airspeeders, and a siren from the police. Its silence seemed reverential somehow, and as she crept along towards the office off to the side, her footsteps, which she knew were almost imperceptibly quiet, seemed to thunder in the vast darkness. She couldn't help but jump every time she scuffed her shoe on something, or some broken glass crunched a little too loud.

From what she had been able to ascertain, the warehouse had once been used as a processing facility to package droid parts, but had been abandoned decades ago, most likely right before the Clone Wars. It served her purposes well enough, and luckily, the building it was in was warmed by geothermal ducts which passed under the warehouse, keeping its interior warm.

She quietly made her way into the office structure, kicking aside one particularly bold scurrier who hissed at her. "Shut up, Danya!" she laughed in a whisper. The light from her glowrod reflected off the broken glass in the door to the office, which she gingerly pushed open, and was swallowed by the suffocating darkness. Her shoes crunched the glass shards, and she was forced to duck under a broken light fixture hanging from the ceiling by a single wire. She'd left it hanging there to alert her if someone had been in here, because if they had, the light would most likely be on the floor. There was litter everywhere, too—scurrier droppings, clouded flimsiplast that disintegrated at a touch, bits of plaster and broken ceiling tiles, and rusted furniture.

At the end of the narrow hallway with a door on either side was the office she wanted. Inside was more debris, along with a battered metal desk and a couple of chairs. She picked one up after putting the glowrod in her mouth, and set it against the wall under an air duct, then hopped up on the chair and lifted the grate to reach inside. Finding what she was looking for, she then quickly went back into the main part of the warehouse—she hated the claustrophobic darkness of the offices, but it was the best hiding place for her secret treasure, the contraband that risked her life.

Most of the crates had been stacked two and three high by her in the middle of the warehouse floor, forming a ring approximately ten meters across. In the center of it was a smaller crate with a fusion lantern sitting on top. She flicked this on, and a few seconds later, the ring area was lit up. From outside the ring, she knew, there would be only a faint glow to be seen above the tops of the crates.

Inside the crate the lantern sat on were a few supplies—several days of old gleb-rations, a medical kit, bottled water, and some blankets and towels, along with a hold-out blaster she'd stolen from one of the patrons of the Blue Nebula. It was always good to have a back-up plan, she mused, tossing her jacket over the crate; she knew she wouldn't need it with the contraband in her hand.

A flick of her thumb brought forth the green blade of her lightsaber with a snap-hiss.

Before being enslaved a second time, she'd had a chance to spend several years with Master Cal Shara, a human former Jedi who'd studied under the Jedi Master Niko Tyris after he'd left their vaunted order. Unfortunately, their time had been cut short by the attention of the Inquisitorius, and in the ensuing melee, she'd been captured by Drafulla the Hutt, who'd quickly sold her to Beriska. She'd managed to hide the lightsaber hilt, though it was in a rather uncomfortable location, and after being sold to Beriska, retrieved it with more pain and a permanent scar a few centimeters to the right of her navel. It would be the last time she smuggled _anything_ under her skin!

It was something none of them knew about—Beriska or the other slaves; Beriska, because Mika actually cared about the feeorin and didn't want to give her any more to worry about; and those catty _schuttas_ because they didn't need anything else to fuel their disdain for her. Beriska, though, would undoubtedly go into Corellian overdrive if she ever found out that one of her slaves was a Force user with some small skill, and then who knew what would happen? Would Beriska claim the bounty on her? It was unlikely, but Mika couldn't take that chance.

No, the plan was simply to buy her freedom and move on before anyone could discover her secret because if the Inquisitorius ever tracked her down again, her options for escape were pretty limited with a slave collar around her neck; and if the others hunting her found out… She shuddered at the thought of _that_.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and launched into a series of blindingly fast combat maneuvers, the lightsaber humming as it flashed this way and that. Thrust flowed into slash, slash into block, and block into feint. She back-flipped off of a crate at the periphery of the ring, spinning the lightsaber behind her as she landed and blocking high, then spin-slashing into a downward-angled sweep.

Cal Shara had called the style _Ataru_, and said it was an ancient lightsaber form that the Jedi had used for millennia to train their _padawans_, or apprentices. She'd assured Mika, though, that in the hands of someone who'd mastered the form, it could be one of the most deadly styles. Mika, however, found herself drawn to its simplicity and economy of movement—no motion was wasted, and every attack could easily be turned into a defense.

For her, it was a meditation, and with the blade in her hand and the Force flowing through her, she felt more relaxed and less vulnerable. She could forget about the cantina and all of its troubles for a little while. She'd found that becoming proficient in lightsaber combat had come to her far more easily than learning to control the flow of the Force to do other things.

She feared this was because anger came to her so easily, and Cal Shara had warned her that such ease could lead to the Dark Side. The few times she had actually called on the Force, it had been involuntary and had resulted in explosive force being directed at someone, with shattering results. She'd become a little better at it in her time with Cal Shara, but she much preferred using her lightsaber to deal with problems, or avoiding them all together.

A light sheen of sweat formed on her skin as she pushed herself harder and harder. Her focus narrowed until there was only the hum of the lightsaber and its green blade flashing, making the shadows waver drunkenly. Her muscles began to ache, but she pushed through it. The rhythm of movement, the pattern of motion, and her steady breathing all heightened the meditation. Her movements blurred from speed, and all her thrusts and blocks and slashes were flawless.

"Mika?"

Her heart seized in terror as she startled and spun, landing in a crouched stance, lightsaber held in a defensive block. Her eyes widened in as she saw who the voice belonged to.

"Mika?" Beriska asked again, fear in her eyes as well as she stepped cautiously between two crates and into the circle of light on the other side of the ring.

Mika suddenly felt trapped and very much afraid.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The nervous tapping of her boot on the black deckplates filled the silence inside the passenger cabin of the shuttle _Tydirium_, a _Lambda_-class transport that was symbolic of the new Empire. The gray and black color scheme used throughout the interior of the shuttle was reminiscent of a prison, and she supposed in a way that it _was_ a prison, albeit one of her own making. The dark-colored interior seemed to absorb both light and sound, and lent the interior a claustrophobic feeling that put her on edge; the white illuminator panels on the ceiling only seemed to enhance this effect.

She checked her chrono again even though it had only been five minutes since the last time she'd looked. _Stang!_ she cursed to herself. She'd never cared for shuttle travel, and her nerves were already frayed from thinking about her first official assignment. Time seemed to be stretching out like a rubber band for he; she wanted to get off this shuttle, get her stuff, and report for duty.

Nor was she alone. A stormtrooper sat in the corner near the open blast door leading into the cockpit. The faux-leather grav-chairs faced each other across the central aisle, and she sat in the opposite corner from the stormtrooper, near the back where she could feel the hyperdrive humming away behind the bulkhead. She cast a longing, mournful gaze at the stormtrooper armor, then looked back at the deckplate beneath her booted feet.

Dressed in the slate gray uniform of an Imperial naval officer, Jaslin Paradas was en route to Bilbringi to take up her first posting ever as Adjutant to Inquisitor Nilas aboard the _Fury_, an _Imperial I_-class Star Destroyer. Her rank plack contained thee red squares over three blue squares, and each shoulder pocket contained a single code cylinder, denoting her rank as a Junior Commander, and the small insignia pins of aurodium on the corners of her collar revealed her status as a Support Specialist. As Adjutant, she technically outranked everyone aboard the _Fury_ except for the Inquisitor himself, though this only applied in matters of operational protocol, not the day-to-day logistics. She could issue orders, but it was up to the Captain of the vessel to decide how to implement them.

A Junior Commander she might be, but she was still technically fresh out of the Naval Academy on Prefsbelt, one of the most prestigious naval academies in the entire Empire., and was absolutely terrified of her new posting. Of course, she'd spent an additional two years at a certain Imperial facility on Yaga Minor that did not officially exist being "re-educated" after a fiasco on Prefsbelt that ended with her arrest and the death of a superior officer with whom she'd been romantically involved.

When she'd first enlisted in the Empire, her only goal had been to become a stormtrooper stationed with the 501st Legion, infamously known as Vader's Fist. She'd fallen in love with the myth and mystery of Lord Vader from the few holo-news pieces he was featured in, but really knew nothing about him other than his no-nonsense, get the job done right and damn the consequences persona, not until much later, and then to her lasting shame and regret. She'd even collected his toy from the Jolly Meal at Biscuit Baron.

When she'd been transferred to Prefsbelt from Ord Mynock rather than Carida as she'd put in for, she could almost hear the door closing on her dreams of being a member of the 501st; Prefsbelt was naval, whereas Carida was a heavy-gravity world where stormtroopers were forged into elite soldiers of the Empire. When she was arrested not long after, the slowly-closing door slammed shut and her dreams died.

She glanced at the stormtrooper again and swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd been sent back to Prefsbelt a good little cog in the Imperial machinery to finish her last year, and while she may have graduated at the very top of her class, the pain of the death of her dreams still ached and robbed her of any joy at such a rare accomplishment. It was a hard fact to accept, but she was a complete and utter failure, and far worse, truth be told.

"Is there something you need, sir?" the stormtrooper asked, looking over at her.

"No," she answered quietly, looking away. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and blotted her neck and forehead; she was sweating despite the coolness of the air in the cabin, and felt that familiar, feverish buzz behind her ears.

She checked her chrono again, an aurodium and onyx time piece that had been a graduation gift from her parents, and while the Empire demanded absolute uniformity in all things, no one had said anything about her chrono. Just another strange idiosyncrasy of the Imperial machine.

What in blazes was taking so blasted long? she wondered. The last leg of the trip, Rondai II to Bilbringi, was only supposed to take four hours, but it was beginning to feel a lot longer than that. If she didn't get her stuff soon, she was going to be a mess, and her first assignment would be over before she even started.

She no longer cared what happened to herself; her dreams were ashes, and she cursed the day she met that _abo_, Lieutenant Jonn Ramiro. Her girlish crush had been clay in his hands. Her family's continuing existence, however, depended on her success and obeying orders, no matter how hard they were. Her opinions, her very morals, were of no consequence. It had been made excruciatingly clear to her that if she were to fail to obey, or fail her mission, the 501st Legion that she had so idolized as a young girl would be ordered to Ywllandr, her home planet, and they wouldn't be going there to have a chat with her parents.

She sighed despairingly as the old pain and self-loathing reared its ugly head, then wiped her forehead once more and tucked away the handkerchief. She reached into her duffel bag next to her to retrieve her datapad. Her arm spasmed painfully as she pulled the device out, causing it to clatter to the floor.

"Kiff!" she swore blackly, drawing a momentary glance from the stormtrooper. Scowling, she reached down and snatched the datapad off the floor, groaning as the bindings holding her breasts flat dug into her skin.

Normally, women weren't permitted in the Imperial Navy—they were apparently good enough to die as stormtroopers on backrocket planets, but only very rarely did they serve as officers in the navy, and even then, it was usually never higher than a junior lieutenant. The Empire wanted absolute conformity in all things, but every so often, the powers that be would come to their senses and give merit to someone who'd earned it with talent.

Her gifts of observation and perception hadn't gone unnoticed, so exceptions had been made. Her file had been sealed, and she'd been ordered to bind her breasts and project the appearance of masculinity in all things. After her little sojourn on Yaga Minor, the higher ups had gone a step further and doctored her personnel records so not only was there no mention of her arrest, her gender was changed to male.

The growing fever made it hard to concentrate as she flipped on the datapad and brought up a set of mission notes. "Storage locker besh-one-one-six, deck twenty-nine, storage facility yellow-one-aurek. Deactivate security measures by 1510 GST or contents will be erased, and mission will be considered failed. Resupply awaits on Coruscant. Coordinates will arrive upon your disembarkation."

She checked her chrono again. It would take fifteen minutes at sub-light to reach Orbital Station Nine where the _Fury_ was being refueled and resupplied. It would take five or ten minutes to get through security, and maybe ten or fifteen minutes to reach the locker. She had a fifteen minute window, then—not a very large time frame, especially if this kiffing ship doesn't exit hyperspace soon! she fumed.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the bulkhead and began tapping her foot again. Come on, come on, she thought, trying to will the trip to be over. It would've been much easier if she could've brought along a steri-syringe with a single dose; then again, she couldn't very well just dose herself in front of the stormtrooper, now could she?

She'd met up with several agents on Rondai II while the shuttle was being refueled. They'd given her a steri-syringe so she could dose herself, but it hadn't been enough. She'd tried telling them that, but intelligence operatives were a touchy lot even under the best of circumstances. They'd coldly told her she'd wait until she arrived at Bilbringi, and that was an order.

Stupid _abos_, she cursed. Her back twitched involuntarily, only confirming that she'd hadn't received a big enough dose to last her to her destination. One thing that she'd learned the hard way in the Empire was that superior rank did not necessarily mean superior intelligence. Now, she'd most likely be incoherent when she finally dosed herself, and would thus run the risk of being late to board the _Fury_.

She removed her uniform cap and ran her hand over her scalp, the thick dark hair she'd once had now shorn short. It was no more than a centimeter or two in length, though it had once hung well below her slender backside. She wiped her forehead again with the handkerchief and put her cap back on.

"Four minutes to reversion," the navigator called out from the cockpit.

She lifted the datapad off of her lap with a jerky motion that she fought to control, then stood and twitched again as her back spasmed painfully, making her hiss. She fought to keep from looking like a poorly-controlled marionette, gritting her teeth with the effort until the spasms passed. She was acutely aware of the irony—how little control of her life she seemed to have these days.

"Fools," she muttered, cursing those agents as her head began to spin with vertigo and more sweat began to bead on her forehead. Her microgarments were already soaked with sweat as the feverish heat burned through her. She stretched, hanging on with one hand to that hand-straps mounted to the ceiling, then strode to the open blast door to look out of the cockpit window.

Behind her, the hyperdrive's high-pitched whine suddenly descended in pitch as the shuttle reverted to realspace. Through the cockpit window, she watched as the purplish swirls of hyperspace gave way to streaks of light that snapped into a starfield as they reached the Bilbringi system.

Bilbringi was a star system whose lifeless, rocky planets had only one redeeming feature: they were incredibly rich with heavy metals perfect for manufacturing starships. The shipyards were composed of dozens of orbital construction platforms that turned out warships around the clock. Most were dedicated to building everything but Star Destroyers, whose contract Kuat Drive Yards jealously guarded. Several platforms had been turned into refueling and maintenance stations which dwarfed the Star Destroyers berthed in them.

The entire inner half of the system was abuzz with activity, with hundreds of massive cargo ships such as Action IV transports hauling raw ore from the planets to the orbital refineries, and the finished products to the construction platforms. Countless shuttles flitted back and forth, carrying personnel and supplies, and there were many other support vessels, too.

"About kiffing time," she growled, causing one of the crewman to look up in surprise.

He looked as if he were about to say something; then his eyes slid to the lightsaber hanging from her belt and widened as he quickly turned back to his instrumentation.

Smart move, she thought grimly, then gaped as one of the new, massive Imperial Dreadnoughts lumbered past. At forty-eight hundred meters, it was three times the size of an _Imperial_-class Star Destroyer. How could someone not get lost on a ship that bit? It amazed her that there were even engines big enough to propel all that mass. TIE fighters circled around it like sea birds around a whaladon.

"Orbital Station Nine straight ahead," the navigator said.

Circling a lifeless brown planet speckled with patches of black and tan that reminded her of a mynock egg was a massive station that resembled a vast mushroom glittering in the light of the system's primary star. The "cap" contained all the living areas and smaller hangar bays around its periphery. Underneath the cap was a long "stem" containing more hangar bays and engineering areas, as well as docking and refueling arms for capital ships. Crrenly attached were several such ships, including a Nebulon B frigate, a _Victory_-class Star Destroyer, and the _Fury._

Of course, her shuttle couldn't just fly into the _Fury's_ forward hangar bay—Imperial protocols wee fight too tight here to permit that, even if she was a Junior Commander. Instead, she'd have to land on the station and suffer through the security checkpoint before being allowed to board the _Fury_.

The shuttle banked gently and headed for a small hangar bay on the side of the stem, directly under the cap. The opening was outlined in white from the energized atmospheric containment field. As the _Tydirium_ entered the hangar and began the landing procedure, she that "small" was relative; the hangar bay was easily a hundred meters on a side and perhaps twenty or twenty five meters high. Several other _Lambda-_ and _Theta-_class shuttles were present, and there were stormtroopers everywhere. Some were in squads, while others stood guard over stacked crates or waited for a cargo lift to appear in the deck. Maintenance personnel ran about, some pulling hoses to refuel the shuttles as others inspected the hulls. Flight officers observed the frenetic activity from behind transparisteel windows a dozen meters above the main deck, while several more walked around with datapads, checking flight manifests.

A hydraulic whine filled the cabin as the wings of the _Tydirium_ folded up and the landing gears engaged; it landed with a soft thump in a cordoned area even as Jaslin was gathering her duffel bag. She clung to a hand-strap as she did so. Her head was spinning and her mouth was dry, and there was only one thing on her mind as she rushed down the boarding ramp.

"Greetings, Commander," a young, fresh-faced ensign said, stepping forward and saluting sharply. "My name is—"

"Doesn't matter," she said coldly. "Let's go. I have an appointment to make."

He frowned. "Security is this way, _sir._" He gestured to a nearby corridor leading out of the hangar bay.

She could sense his shock when he saw her lightsaber, not that she cared one way or another. All she cared about was laying her hands on the package awaiting her in the storage locker. She felt sluggish as she walked, and her head twitched several times. Worse, she could feel the itching coming on, like little pin pricks all over her skin. Not a constant tingling, as though a limb had fallen asleep, but annoying nonetheless as she tried to ignore it and not scratch.

The ensign, a kid, really, with just the barest shadow of facial hair to show that he'd shaved that morning, led the way into the station. Several mouse droids in a train skittered past them as they walked down the curving corridor. The duty station wasn't far in, but she glanced nervously at her chrono anyway. Their boots tapped smartly on the high-gloss black deckplates, and they passed several pairs of stormtroopers and a silver and black R2 droid repairing a power node before finally arriving.

The duty station was an island in the center of an intersection. Two serious-looking officers stood behind the console, but only the lieutenant offered a tired salute. "Commander," he said, nodding. "Welcome to Orbital Station Nine. Please insert your ideni-tag and put your hand on the scanner."

She reached into the neck of her uniform jacket and pulled out her military identi-tags, a pair of thin durasteel tags with her service number, name, and blood type etched on one side. In each tag was an embedded RFID chip that provided her service record. She plugged one into the slot on the front of the console and placed her hand on the palm scanner.

There was quick hum, followed by a beep.

"You're clear, Commander," the lieutenant said, pressing several buttons. "Boarding for the _Fury_ is on deck forty-seven."

She took her tags back and put them around her neck, then offered a perfunctory salute back.

Her escort gestured down the corridor. "I'll escort you—"

"I don't think so," she said, her head and shoulder twitching. Focus! she told herself. "Where is storage facility yellow-one-aurek?"

"Two decks up, sir." He cocked his head to the side, obviously confused. "You aren't going to the _Fury_?"

She glanced at her chrono. She had less than ten minutes. "No. Let's go." She set off in search of the turbolift.

"But—" he said, rushing to follow her.

"That's an order, Ensign." The corridor stretched out in front of her as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Just a little farther, she thought feverishly. Her eyelids felt so heavy.

"Yes, sir."

They took the turbolift up two decks, and by the time they made it to the storage facility, she had less than three minutes left. The facility itself was less than impressive in appearance, being nothing more than a very large side chamber lined with lockers along the bulkheads. There were several rows of additional lockers in the middle as well, and the aisles stretched away for at least a hundred meters, about the only thing noteworthy of its appearance.

"Choobies!" she swore, frantically searching for locker besh-one-one-six. "Look for my locker!" she ordered, giving the ensign the number—technically a breach of her security protocols, but she didn't have time for observing such niceties.

"Yes, sir." He took another aisle.

Besh-forty-one, besh-forty-two—where in blazes was it? she wondered. She crossed an intersection and the numbers jumped into the one-fifties, so she went back and looked at the opposite. "There!" she gasped, yanking out her code cylinder and jamming it into the locker's SCOMP-link interface. The door slid open. Inside, a silvery attache case sat, its digital display beeping and running back from 34. Next to the display was a number pad.

The ensign came around the side and looked in. "Is that—" he started to ask in alarm, his eyes growing wide.

"Quiet!" she snapped. Her head shook like she had palsy as she punched in a nine digit code.

The beeping stopped; she breathed a huge sigh of relief as she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the locker. Her lower back spasmed. "Son of a—"

"Maybe I should report this, sir." The ensign backed away.

She looked at him sharply; she didn't have time for this poodoo. "You really don't want to speak of this to anyone," she growled, waving her hand and hoping she was still coherent enough to make this work.

His eyes became dull. "I really don't want to speak of this to anyone," he said softly, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

"Good idea," she said, another breath of relief releasing itself from her. "I can find my own way from here."

"Yes, sir," he said, giving her a salute and leaving.

She pulled the attache case out, put away her code cylinder, and grabbed her duffel bag. Another wave of searing heat and dizziness swept through her as she followed the corridor deeper into the station. When she got this bad, the Force was often hard to control; she'd feared it wouldn't work when she mind-tricked the ensign. If it hadn't, she would have had to kill him; she was glad it hadn't come to that because she didn't think she could murder someone.

The corridor lead into a larger one with a bank of turbolifts on one side and series of refresher units on the other side. About a dozen officers were passing through at any given moment as were stormtoopers and droids. None gave her a second glance as she ducked into a refresher room.

She quickly made sure it was empty, then entered the last stall farthest from the door and locked herself in. She set the duffel down and sat on top of the closed lid of the head, placing the attache case on her lap. She licked her dry lips and reverently stroked the surface of the attache case before releasing the latches and opening it. A grin spread across her face as she gazed hungrily at the contents.

Nestled in foam were two steel vials sealed with an airtight rubber membrane, and a steel-barreled syringe with a thin, short needle. The foam itself was laced with traces of detonate, and it would've destroyed any evidence of what the case contained if she would've been just a little slower.

With trembling hands, she picked up the syringe and vials, closed the attache case and set it aside, then put one of the vials in the hidden compartment in the heel of her right shoe. The other vial would go in her left shoe, and the syringe would disassemble and be hidden in her duffel bag, once she was finished. The labels on the vials read, IMPERIAL RESEARCH DIVISION, and had the silhouette of the Imperial emblem behind it. No description of what was inside; that would only incriminate her further if she got caught.

She rolled the sleeve of her left arm and used her belt to tie off, then drew 0.25 ccs of the contents of the vial into the syringe and put the vial into the heel of her left shoe. She found a vein, shot up and hissed at the pleasant/painful burning in her arm, then tossed the syringe in her duffel. She'd been ordered to use her femoral artery so as not to leave a track mark, but once in her arm wouldn't hurt. She untied the belt.

Instantly, the ryll kor spice burned through the rest of her body, causing her back to arch as her muscles clenched and the wah-wah-ing buzz blew through her. "Nnnn," she groaned in rapture, her eyes closing. It was like her insides had ignited and burned away in glorious fire as the ryll kor turned her blood into molten gold. She panted and moaned as wave after wave of ecstasy washed through her. It was so acute that it bordered on agony and left her breathless. She could feel every hair on her body, every drop of sweat on her skin. It made her toes curl as her body seemed to swell with the light of a star, a star which moments or minutes later—she didn't know or care which—exploded deep inside of her, leaving her gasping for breath. She lay limp and sprawled back against the wall, her limbs feeling like neutronium weights as an electric tingling radiated outward from below her belly.

As the initial rush wore off, the echoes came on.

"—going to Alderaan this year to see the new—"

"—does he even like me? I'm such a failure—"

"—hope I get posted to Coruscant—"

"—can't believe that the Empire would do that—"

The voices that bounced around painfully inside her head, like feedback from an audio amplifier, making her skull seem to vibrate. She wasn't actually hearing any audible sounds; they were the surface thoughts of people around her, dozens of them all clamoring in her mind at once. It was one of the stranger effects of ryll kor, and was why the Empire was so interested in using it in intelligence. Ryll kor granted a sort of limited telepathic sensitivity, and because the ryll kor she was taking was many times more refined, and therefore more powerful than anything on the black market, the effects were that much more amplified, and the drug that much more addictive.

That telepathic sensitivity was the main reason she'd been forced to keep taking the liquid ryll kor on Yaga Minor as part of her "re-education." She would spy on Inquisitor Nilas, a man who was known to be so paranoid that anyone who worked directly for him was forced to undergo a complete physical examination and was scanned with an EM detector to search for subcutaneous listening devices. Who better, then, to keep an eye on him than someone who could read his surface thoughts, and who'd only recently discovered that she was Force-sensitive? She would be his new apprentice after receiving some training in lightsaber combat and using the Force on Yaga Minor by several faceless and nameless masters.

She'd begged and pleaded with her shadowy, anonymous keepers to be allowed to detox and get clean, but they'd refused. When she would refuse to dust herself with ryll kor, they would strap her down and force her to take the drug. They'd use ever greater amounts, too, to ensure that she was hopelessly addicted, and she would be so high, during these sessions that she would be unable to tell fantasy from reality. They'd strip her naked and toss her in a padded cell to keep her from trying to hurt herself, and she would lay there delirious for hours that felt like years.

After two or three weeks of this (or was it months?), she stopped resisting and fell in line, and her real training began. She was a secret tool of the Empire's will, now, bought and paid for in ryll kor. At least the drug numbed the shame every time she thought about it. She wasn't a member of the Imperial Navy, despite her graduation from Prefsbelt; nor was she a member of the Inquisitorius by virtue of her apprenticeship to Inquisitor Nilas.

In reality, she was nothing more than a conscripted operative of Imperial Intelligence, a puppet that danced to the tune of her masters on Yaga Minor. Her military career was a fabrication and she had no hope of ever advancing based on her own merit unless it served the interests of the Empire. She was a fraud, just a kiffing junkie fraud.

The thoughts of others reverberating in her head began to fade as the intensity of the rush wore off, slowly turning into a quiet susurrus of whispers in the back of her mind. By focusing on them, she could easily bring them to the fore and listen in, but she had little desire to do so; she had enough problems of her own to deal with without having to listen to someone else's life.

She could still feel every hair on her body, every rustle of cloth against her skin as she reached over to roll down her sleeve. As she moved, it felt like she was swimming through air that was thick like water. This tactile hypersensitivity was one reason why many ryll kor addicts turned into depraved hedonists who sought ryll kor and sex like a starving man food.

The gift that keeps on giving, she giggled to herself. She was as high as a belker, and she gritted her teeth as she tried to ignore the sensations that moving was causing as she struggled to sit up. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and immediately regretted it. The light in the refresher room stabbed into her eyes like a thousand needles, washing everything out in a white haze. She tried opening her eyes again, much more slowly this time, and the white haze dimmed slowly until she could open her eyes without too much discomfort.

"Nerfs," she mumbled, standing up and swaying drunkenly. She broke down the syringe and tucked the pieces into her fem-kit, something Nilas was unlikely to pay any attention to. She picked up her attache case and duffel bag and exited the stall, dumping the empty case down the garbage chute on her way out of the refresher. Maybe some dianoga would make the mistake of eating it, she thought, trying hard not to laugh. That would be one serious case of indigestion!  
She glanced at her chrono as she walked towards a duty station. She had about forty minutes until the final boarding call went out for the _Fury_, and she wanted to jump into a sani-steam before boarding. Her microgarments were damp with sweat, and she could smell her body odor, which was simply unacceptable. She might be many things, but she would be damned if she was going to walk around smelling like a damp wookiee.

The ensign at the duty station saluted as she walked up. "Sir!"

"Is there a refresher room equipped with sani-steams near the boarding area for the _Fury_?" she asked. She put one hand on the desk to steady herself; it felt like she was in free-fall and her entire body was buzzing.

"One moment, sir." His fingers clattered over the keyboard as he scrutinized the display. "There's one for crew, but it's five hundred or so meters away. I don't see anything for officers."

"It'll do."

"There's an officer refresher on deck—"

"No time. Just me directions to the first one."

Her gave them to her and saluted her retreating back.

General crew refreshers differed from officer facilities in that officers were accorded some privacy, with individual sani-steam stalls. General crew facilities were unisex with communal sani-steam rooms. While stormtrooper ranks might include women, for example, they were treated no differently and given no special consideration. They were expected to conform to the Imperial uniformity just like everyone else.

Of course, she wasn't supposed to permit anyone to know that she was a woman, and was authorized to use lethal force to maintain that cover. Only Inquisitor Nilas knew, as he'd been the one to arrange things so that her personnel files were doctored. According to her masters on Yaga Minor, this was because he planned to use her to infiltrate the crew. They couldn't figure out why, though, which is where she came.

She had to adapt to changing circumstances, though; she couldn't very well show up smelling like an unwashed bantha, now could she? Besides, she reasoned, it was unlikely that anyone else boarding the _Fury_would be in the refresher.

Luck was with her as she entered the locker room. There were two aisles of lockers with a central wall of lockers running down the middle, and benches in the middle of each aisle. There was no one in the refresher, to her surprise and relief. She picked an empty locker and put her duffel bag in it, then quickly stripped down and padded into the sani-steam room.

Thankfully, the water heads lined the outer walls instead of being on a central column like they had been on Prefsbelt. "Ahh," she sighed, shivering in delight as the hot water washed over her. She closed her eyes and let her head loll forward, putting one hand on the wall to brace herself. The steam opened and relieved her dry sinuses; the recycled air was always so dry on stations and ships.

Then, she heard whistling as someone came into the locker room. "Nerfs!" she swore under her breath, quickly rinsing off and putting her back to the entrance.  
"—back to the _Fury_—" the man was thinking. He whistled the Corellian Boogie, a popular song of late. "—wonder if there will be any Stormtrooper women—"  
_Abo_, she thougt in annoyance. _Go away!_

A few moments later, he came into the sani-steam room. "Oh, sorry! Didn't know anyone was in here!" he laughed, going to the opposite corner. "My last day of R and R." His thoughts, however, were typical. "—Is that a woman? My, my, those stormtroopers have rather nice ass…ets. Oh, nuts, is that a Five Hundred and First tattoo? Good thing I didn't say what I was thinking!—"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll be out in a few moments," she growled.

"No rush, ma'am."

She could read every one of his thoughts as his eyes roved rather recklessly over her backside, especially her slender hips and small posterior. Her blush burned all the way down her modest chest. She was sorely tempted to just beat him senseless.

"Yeah, I'm the helmsman for the _Fury_," he boasted, thinking to impress her.

She had to hold back a disdainful laugh. There were many helmsman aboard the _Fury_.

"Nice tattoo. Where did you pick that up?"

She stiffened. "Prefsbelt," she answered. On her left shoulder was the image of a large katarn wrapped around the helmet of a clone commando, with an ornate ribbon below it that read, "501st Legion—Vader's Fist."

"—Oh, poodoo!—" the man thought. "So, you're not a stormtrooper then," he said, sounding very nervous. "You're an officer."

"That's right. I tried to go to Carida, but they wouldn't let me."

"Um, then what's your rank and position, if I may ask, sir."

She smiled at his anxiety; let him sweat for a while. "Higher than yours, and never you mind. That's an order, ensign."

"Can I at least know your name?"

"Lieutenant Ramiro," she lied. How she had cursed that name after her arrest, and cursed herself for her girlish crush on him. The man had been a scurrier, injecting her with ryll kor for the first time at a private party on Prefsbelt, then taking advantage of her hypersensitivity. At the time, she had been flattered by the attention of a higher ranking officer. What a fool I was. Death had been too merciful a fate for him, though she hadn't thought so at the time.

"I'm Ensign Valens. Maybe I'll see you around sometime." His thoughts, though, seemed centered on seeing her face, which she wasn't going to permit. "I'm going to try to get a sabacc game together as soon as we're underway and everyone is settled, hopefully without the big brass noticing." Again, his thoughts betrayed him. "—I bet she's prettier than a twi'lek dancing girl, too. That would be great, showing up with her. The guys would be so jealous!—"

Prettier than a twi'lek dancing girl? She fumed. You _abo!_ He was lucky she didn't turn him into the ISB for sympathizing with the alien races! Sensing his back was turned towards her, she quickly exited, glancing guiltily at his backside. He was rather nice from behind, she mused. It would be a waste to turn him over to the ISB. Smiling and blushing at her own foolishness, she grabbed a towel from the pile near the door and bolted to her locker.

She toweled dry and dressed in record time, wrapping her breasts tightly and quickly throwing on her uniform. She grabbed her duffel bag and was heading out just as he was coming into the locker room. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. "Abo," she scoffed, though a smile tugged at her lips at the thought of his nice backside.

As she walked down the corridor towards the boarding area for the _Fury_, she felt like she was going to launch herself up to the ceiling and bounce. She was so high that she thought she was going to trip and fall, or look stoned, but no one gave her so much as a second glance. She hadn't even peaked yet, and wouldn't for several more hours.

Usually, withdrawal symptoms and the high itself weren't this intense, but because she'd gotten addicted to an experimental liquid version of ryll kor that was far more potent, its effects were that much stronger. What made her situation a nightmare though, was that Imperial Intelligence gave her just enough to keep her coherent and wanting more. It was just another hook to control her with. Oh, she still served the Empire she'd once idolized, but now it was a twisted mockery of her childhood dreams of fortune and glory, and there was no escape.

A little farther on, she spotted a cargo skiff being piloted down the wide corridor by a red and black R2 droid. The skiff carried several large transformers and spools of cable.

"Hey," she said, flagging it down as it passed by.

The droid whistled and stopped.

"Are you going past the boarding area for the _Fury_?"

The droid whistled an incomprehensible series of trilled beeps.

"Good. Let's go," she said, hopping on next to the droid.

The trilled in confusion, and when she refused to get off, it buzzed rather rudely and used its manipulator arm to push the throttle forward, sending the skiff flying down the concourse.

The boarding hall curved gently to the left. It was perhaps twenty-five meters wide and twenty meters tall, with open blast doors and two balconies lining the left bulkhead. On the right were floor to ceiling transparisteel windows a meter thick, looking out into space. The _Fury_ was docked next to the station and blocked much of the view with its bulk. Hundreds of people walked along the plaza with stormtroopers everywhere. Other cargo skiffs flitted about, and several chrome 3PO droids ambled about.

As the approached the boarding area, she could see the massive docking arm attached to the Star Destroyer's port mid-line trench, just forward of the lateral quad laser battery. She'd never been this close to the exterior of a Star Destroyer, and so had never truly comprehended how large a ship they were. Hundreds of tiny-looking droids crawled over the _Fury's_ hull, inspecting and patching it. In reality, each one of those droids was probably the size of a GNK power droid. There were flashes of bright, bluish-white light where they were tack welding patches in place.

The droid pulled the skiff to a stop in front of the boarding terminal, then trilled.

She jumped off the cargo skiff and found herself in front of a Junior Commander, holding a datapad. "Junior Commander Jaslin Paradas, Adjutant to InquisitorNilas, reporting for duty, sir," she said saluting. "Request permission to come aboard."

He held out the datapad. "Insert your identi-tag."

She did as instructed. "Welcome aboard. I'm Junior Commander Tevis, Chief of Security," he said. "Right through there, Commander."

"Thank you, sir," she said. As she walked down the docking arm, she fancied that she could almost feel herself floating. As it was, her whole body tingled and buzzed as if a subsonic vibration was resonating through her. She stopped at the threshold and looked down at where the docking arm was attached to the Star Destroyer. She stepped across; there was no turning back, now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The hum of the lightsaber filled the vast, shadowy emptiness of the warehouse, defying Beriska's attempts to disbelieve what she was seeing.

Mika was leaping about acrobatically in the center of a ring of stacked crates, a green lightsaber in her hands flashing around in a fast, dizzying array of attacks and blocks. She'd stop and twirl the lightsaber about in one place, then flip through the air and land with a roll, bringing the blade up in a devastating slash. All of the motions were fluid, rhythmic, and followed a pattern of some kind that Beriska could sense, but couldn't quite follow.

For her, this was shocking. In the year that she'd had Mika, the girl had been extremely tight-lipped about her past, and in her experience, that was usually the result of some horrible trauma. If what she was seeing tonight was part of that past, it was probably with good reason Mika was so secretive. No wonder she'd been so mistrustful, so quick to push people away. It suddenly explained a great deal, but at the same time, only raised more questions. Witnessing Mika training with the lightsaber only made her realize how little she knew about the girl.

This, however, was beyond bad. She'd have to get rid of Mika, no doubt about it, now. She couldn't risk having the Inquisitorius discover the girl here—it would be the end of the Blue Nebula, and probably her, too, if not by the hand of the Empire, then by the hand of _her_ masters higher up. Black Sun was very unforgiving, and this was heat she didn't need.

"Blast it, Mika," she grumbled softly, not really knowing what to do. Nothing was ever easy where that twi'lek was concerned, that was for sure. She'd had a feeling that the girl had been up to something, and had decided to follow her on a whim. Now, she almost wished she hadn't. Her hand tightened around the tracking remote.

Best to get it over with, she thought sadly. She cared more about the little fry than she probably should have, but what had to be done would be done. No use standing there all night gawking. "Mika?" she said, stepping into view.

Mika spun around, eyes wide in shock as she crouched down in a defensive posture, the lightsaber in her right hand haled above and behind her head and pointing at Beriska.

The girl looks ready to bolt, she thought, taking another step into the circle of light cast by the fusion lantern in the center of the ring. "Give me the lightsaber." It had taken all her courage to say that.

The response only heightened her fear. Mika hissed and backed away to the opposite edge of the ring. Her eyes darted about wildly, looking for an escape. Finding none, they focused on Beriska, making her tentacles twitch nervously.

Mika's gaze was flat and devoid of any emotion but fear.

She's deciding whether or not to kill me! she realized. It sent a chill down her spine, and she knew that if Mika decided to, there might not be much that could stop her. "Blast it, Mika!" she said, her anger rising. "Give me that flaming lightsaber!" She took an involuntary step back, bumping into the crate behind her as Mika lowered her head and glared at her from under brows furrowed with sudden rage.

"No." It was barely above a whisper, and stated in such a way to leave no room for compromise.

She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. This was not going at all how she expected. Of course, she should have known that Mika wasn't going to just come along docilely. Blast it, she wasn't the threat here! Mika was _hers_, and she'd never treated her in any way to deserve this. She took a deep breath and decided to try a different tack.

"Mika, please," she said quietly, stepping forward again. She tucked the remote in her pants pocket and held out her hands. "Give me the lightsaber. We'll go home, okay? Nothing bad will happen. I just want—"

"Back!" she hissed through clenched teeth as Beriska took another step forward. "Just stay back!"

Her heart raced in fear as she held up her hands. "Okay, okay, I won't move." Who knew what the girl could do with the Force? Hell, what she _would_ do?

"Why are you here?" Tears brimmed in her eyes, but there was no change in her steely gaze.

"I was worried about you. You left angry, and I didn't want you going somewhere and hurting yourself or putting yourself in danger."

A soft, rapid-fire drumming came from outside the warehouse as rain began falling.

"Why?" Mika asked.

"Why—? Because I _care_ about you, you bantha-headed—" she started to say angrily, growing impatient with the girl's stubbornness.

"Stay _back!"_ she yelled, raising her free hand.

Beriska had seen that motion long before, but choked down her fear and stepped forward anyway. "You won't hurt me."

Tears finally spilled from her eyes, running freely down both sides of her face. "I don't want to," she whispered, a flash of sadness passing across her face, then gone in an instant, locked away behind a durasteel glare. "You shouldn't have followed me!"

"What, and let you go off and hurt yourself?" she scoffed. She was less than two meters away now… "Only now I find you here, doing something that you could be hunted down and executed for!

My stars, girl! Don't you have any sense? The Empire would love to get their hands on you!"

"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped, sniffing. "What was I supposed to do? Tell you? It's the only peace I have!"

"Yes, blast it all! Why didn't you tell me?" She threw her hands up. "I could have done something!"

"What, take away my lightsaber? That is exactly why I don't trust anyone!" She shook her head. "I can't. Not with this."

They stared at each other in silence broken only by the hissing of rain outside.

"You could've left long ago," Beriska said at last. "You could have cut open the safe in my office, taken all that money and been gone before anyone could've stopped you." She felt nauseous at the thought of what Mika could've done to Isara or Danya if she would've been so inclined, and all the while the girl had never let on.

Mika said nothing, just gazed at her, a look of misery in her eyes.

"Why didn't you?"

Her iron control cracked a little, then, allowing some of the anguish she surely must be feeling to come through. "Because I'm a fool," she answered in a whisper.

"No, you're not. You're anything but, Mika," she said, slowly taking a step forward. "You didn't because you're a good girl. That's why I like you, though the Divine knows you make it hard sometimes. That's why I know you won't hurt me." She took another step forward, then another.

Mika watched her warily. "I can't lose my lightsaber," she said, "and I don't want to leave."

She sighed, aching for the girl. The Blue Nebula, as rough and tumble as it was sometimes, was probably the closes the poor girl had come to stability in a while. "Look, Mika. I'd love to be able to have you stay, but you—you're a Jedi, and you know there's a target on your back." She shook her head. "I promise you, though, that I'll try to keep you as safe as I can. I know a few people who owe me favors and I can call one in to take you somewhere safe." One name in particular came to mind—Kryss Andano—but she pushed it aside. The man was a hopeless playboy with a twi'lek obsession.

"I don't have enough money to buy my freedom." She lowered the lightsaber and stood up, though she kept the blade lit and in front of her.

"We can work that out later," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she slowly came closer to Mika. "You just have to trust me a little, Mika." She took the last few steps towards the girl, eyes flicking to the blade momentarily.

Beriska prided herself on the fact that she was nothing like the Hutts whose slaves were often owned unto death and involved a joyless existence of degradation and humiliation. Her policy had always revolved around treating her slaves as indentured servants employed at the Blue Nebula. They were paid a small but fair wage with which they could eventually purchase their freedom; they were well-fed and housed in a clean, comfortable dorm; and they were generally treated with respect and dignity.

"I'm scared," Mika whispered, more tears spilling from her eyes.

"I know," she answered soothingly. She put her hand over Mika's, pushing the girl's thumb off the switch keeping the lightsaber ignited, causing it to extinguish. She took the lightsaber from her and breathed a sigh of relief. "This is still yours, okay?" She tucked the hilt in her pocket. I'll put it in my safe. No one will touch it there."

Mika nodded. "I don't want to leave," she said huskily, then turned her head away, closing her eyes and covering the side of her face with the back of her hand as a sob escaped from her.

"I know that, too," She wrapped her arms around the girl's narrow shoulders.

That seemed to make something give way in Mika, who covered her face with both hands and shook with silent sobs.

Not really knowing what to say, she just held the poor girl. She'd owned and freed dozens of slaves over the years, and in all that time, she'd never met one quite like Mika. The girl was unique, that was for sure. She'd bought the young twi'lek woman from Drafulla the Hutt, who'd delivered a large shipment of spice to be stored in the back of the Blue Nebula until it could be picked up by someone higher up in the Black Sun food chain.

On a whim, she'd asked Drafulla how much she'd wanted for the sullen, angry-looking girl, barefoot and dressed only in a dark green long tunic standing at the base of the ramp of the cargo speeder. Drafulla had laughed at first, and tried telling her that she wasn't a very good slave, but Beriska had insisted and paid the outrageous price of ten thousand credits. The girl was beautiful, and Beriska couldn't understand then why Drafulla had laughed and remarked that it wouldn't be long before she'd regret her purchase.

The Hutt had warned her that the girl was dangerous, and told her how she'd discovered the twi'lek stowing away in the cargo bay after they'd left Bonadon. The girl had killed seven gamorreans before Drafulla had vented some of the atmosphere in the cargo bay to neutralize her. Even after having the slave collar put on her, she continued to try to fight when given a chance. "Like a blasted sand panther!" had been the Hutt's words.

Tonight had cleared up some of the mystery. She'd originally dismissed the Hytt's claims that Mika had single-handedly killed seven gamorreans—that waif? she scoffed—and had assumed that Drafulla had been hinting at the girl's stubborn recalcitrance and prickly nature. It did nothing to explain the price being so high; by all rights that should have _lowered_ the girl's value, not driven it up.

She now knew, however, that the slug must have known the whole time that Mika was Force-user, and had charged twice what the Imperial bounty was on Jedi, figuring she'd pass her off on Beriska and make a tidy profit and get rid of a problem slave at the same time.

Her loss, she thought angrily. Despite the Hutt's warning, she felt no regrets whatsoever.

What in blazes Mika had been doing in the Corporate Sector was anyone's guess, as was where she'd gotten her lightsaber. Her guess was that the girl had smuggled it somehow, but the girl was entitled to her secrets. If and when Mika felt like revealing them, then she'd know.

"Are you ready to go home?" Beriska asked quietly after a long moment. The word _home_ made her wince inwardly; would the girl ever be able to call anywhere home? No, she decided, the Blue Nebula _was_ her home, and it was one she must leave, one that Beriska hoped Mika would be able to come back to someday.

Mika nodded, wiping the tears on her sleeve.

She released her embrace and looked around. "Let's get out of this damp, okay?"

"Can—can I carry my lightsaber until we get home?"

She felt a tingle of fear, then cursed herself for a fool. There was no rancor in the girl's eyes, and she doubted Mika would need the lightsaber to kill her if she really had intended to. Still, she half-jokingly asked, "You're not going to give me a haircut with it, are you?"

Mika snorted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Just a few centimeters off the top?"

"Something like that."

She shook her head. "No. I just want to be the one to put it in the safe."

There was a long, quiet moment where she studied Mika, and sensing no deception, she sighed in resignation. "I suppose. Just keep it hidden, girl." She pulled out the hilt and reluctantly handed it back to her.

The twi'lek took it and studied its surface. "I got this from my Master," she said quietly. "She gave it to me on Nar Shadda after—" She shook her head. "It has some sentimental value."

"Not very Jedi-like, is it?" She went over to the crate atop which sat the fusion lantern. Inside were a few supplies under some towels and blankets.

"I never said I was a Jedi."

She was looking through the supplies and stopped, startled by the girl's forthrightness. If she wasn't a Jedi, then what in blazes was she? She looked over her shoulder and was about to inquire further, but Mika answered before she could.

"My Master was a member of the Jensaari." A smile flickered briefly, then vanished. "I'm not really sure what that makes me." She walked over and grabbed her coat, then tucked the hilt into an inner pocket.

"That's for you to decide." She'd never even heard of the Jensaari, and guessed that it was a heretical sect. "Now, is there anything here you want to take?" Her eyes widened. "Like this, for example?" she asked, pulling out the hold-out blaster.

Mika looked sheepish. "A girl has to protect herself, right?"

Shaking her head, she said, "You know my rules, girl. Why do you insist on giving me headaches by breaking them?"

"I—" she started to protest, the stopped and looked away. "I'm sorry, Beriska."

She tucked the blaster away. "Well, I guess that a blaster is the least of worries, all things considered, but until I can get you to safety, you follow the rules. Don't think I won't spank you like the naughty little snot you are, Force user or not!"

Mika laughed. "Yes, _mom._"

"Oh, shut up, you space-brain," she said without anger. "Are there any other surprises in here I should know about? Grenades? Blaster rifles? Maybe a starfighter stashed somewhere?"

She laughed. "Yes, parked right next to my crate of thermal detonators." She came over and began putting everything in the center of one of the blankets, then tied the corners together to make a knapsack.

It was a trait of those who have had nothing for a long time that Beriska recognized; hoard anything useful or saleable. "Let's haul jets, then. My old bones can't take cold and damp anymore." She stood up.

"Aren't you aquatic-based?" she asked. "Like a nautolan?"

"Watch it, girl. Oof." She stretched, then headed towards the exit, fusion lantern in hand. "A good thing I brought my airspeeder."

Outside, her rusted-out airspeeder waited, and they quickly climbed in to get out of the rain. The upholstery was black durafiber covered with numerous mesh-tape patches, and the air inside smelled like an old airspeeder—stale t'bac, rust, a faint aroma of ancient air fresheners.

Mika set her bundle on the back seat and put on her safety belt. "I'm glad you flew this heap down here."

Outside, the rain drummed on the roof of the airspeeder.

"Yeah, me, too." She started the engine and tapped the throttle forward. The engines wheezed to life and a moment later, they were in air traffic, making their way back up to the Blue Nebula. "Look," she said, putting one hand behind the head rest of Mika's seat, "just lay low until I can figure something out, okay? I've got to approach this carefully. No Force stuff, Mika. Promise me that."

Mika looked out the window into the wet night, then nodded. "Okay. I promise."

"My girl," she said proudly, patting her knee. Who in blazes could she entrust with Mika's safety? There were a few people she could ask, but only one she was really sure of, and yet, wasn't sure. Andano was a blasted rake, especially when it came to twi'leks, and she didn't want him to try to work his charm on Mika or she'd have to neuter him. Maybe she could find someone a little more suitable once she got back to the Blue Nebula; her datapad had hundreds of her contacts.

No matter what, she didn't want someone from Black Sun. Who, then? she wondered as she pulled the airspeeder into the alley behind the cantina. No Black Sun agents eliminated all but a handful of possibilities, and yet, it did nothing to reassure her because even those possibilities, those people she knew who owed her favors, were all still unsavory at best.

She parked her airspeeder next to Danya's little red SoroSuub, a vehicle that the togruta was so proud of. Sometimes, she wondered what that girl used for brains; an expensive sportster was not the way to save money to purchase one's freedom. Of course, Danya wasn't the first frivolous slave she'd owned, and most likely wouldn't be the last, and she was a good girl despite her tendency to seem somewhat aloof. Besides, it wasn't her place to tell the togruta how to spend her money.

"Have you eaten anything tonight?" she asked, shutting off the engines.

"I had a few bantha sandwiches earlier," Mika answered. "I bought them from some besalisk a few blocks over."

She raised an eyebrow ridge. "Was he wearing an apron with a Corellian Blue Ale logo?"

"Yeah, why?"

Chuckling, she said, "Enjoy them while they last. His bantha connection is stealing it from Imperials." She'd known about Azan the besalisk for a while, and though he might make a mean sliced bantha sandwich, it was only a matter of time before the Imperials tracked him down and sent him up to Kessel. "There's plenty of food in the kitchens."

"I think I'd rather just go to bed," she mumbled, getting out and following Beriska through the back door.

"At least eat something first, girl! You're too skinny as it is!"

The kitchens were busier than usual, which meant there was a bigger crowd in the cantina. Short order chefs of various species dressed in whites, including a gran serving as a sous-chef, bustled around the gleaming counters prepping fast-food style snacks. Bantha burgers, spicy nerf "wings" fried in butter, vegetable stir-fry and more all added their savory aromas to the air.

As they walked around the corner by her office, Isara was waiting for her. Her short blonde hair stood in stiff spikes and she wore a robe.

"Beriska," she said, eying Mika coolly. "Asha took the night off, and Danya is covering for her."

"So?" She keyed the door to her office and it slid open silently. "What's so important that you're back here waiting for me rather than working the crowds out there where you should be?"

"I want to work a half-night. Tala will cover for me." She was referring to the zabrak girl with long dark hair and pretty face. Her eyes followed Mika as she slipped into the office, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Annoyed by Isara's smug look, she said. "No. Tala worked all week, and you've been pulling a few too many of these half-nights."

"But—"

"No! Now get out there and work!"

Scowling, Isara spun and stormed off, muttering sullenly under her breath. She took off her robe as she turned the corner, revealing a large tattoo of a dragon snake coiled across her naked back.

"Stang!" she hissed as she walked into her office, closing the door behind her. Sometimes she just wanted to strangle that silly girl. Isara was a hopeless gossip, and manipulative to boot. She seemed to think that she was in charge whenever her owner wasn't around, something Beriska was going to break her of.

"Well, this is it, isn't it?" Mika asked from the couch. She pulled out the lightsaber hilt and looked at it sadly.

Beriska opened the safe. "It's still yours, Mika. Once I find you safe passage, it'll go with you. It's safer in here."

"I'm not, though," she muttered, standing up and coming over to the sage.

She put a hand on Mika's shoulder. "I don't think that's really a concern for you," she said quietly, "especially if you've received any kind of training." She had some experience with Force users, and although the lightsaber was their most recognizable weapon, the loss of that weapon made them no less dangerous. She had no doubts that Mika could rip the safe right out of the wall if she had wanted to.

Mika grinned sheepishly as she reached in and placed the hilt in the safe. "No, probably not," she admitted.

She closed and locked the safe. "No beating up Danya or Isara, either, especially now that I know what kind of damage you're capable of. No, don't look at me like you're some innocent with no idea what I'm talking about."

"Um, okay," she laughed.

"I'm serious, Mika." She shivered at the thought of what could've happened earlier tonight. "No calling on the Force."

"Okay, already! I promised I wouldn't, didn't I? Sheesh!"

She nodded. "Yes, you did."

"All right, then."

"You're still in trouble, though. You should know better than to have this," she said, holding up the hold-out blaster.

"But—" she started to protest.

"But, nothing! You know the rules, girl! Now, go eat something while I decide what your punishment should be."

She opened her mouth to continue trying to protest, then closed it and sighed. "I _am_ sorry, Beriska regardless of whatever you decide."

"I know," she said. "That's why I haven't just taken you over my knee, yet."

She gaped. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, yes, I would!" she yelled, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "Now, get out before I change my mind!"

Shaking her head and smirking, Mika left the office.

Sighing, she sat down behind her desk. What was she going to do with that girl? She pulled a datapad out of her desk, along with a bottle of _garrmorl_ and a tumbler glass. Tonight was a night for a stiff drink, and the wookiee liquor fit the bill nicely. She pressed a button on the console built into one side of her desk and the soft melodic strains of the Imperial Symphony Orchestra filled the office—one of the few good things to come out of the Empire. She dimmed the lights, poured some of the amber liquor into the tumbler, then grabbed her datapad and leaned back in her chair.

"Now, let's see," she said, sipping the drink as she scrolled through her list of contacts on her datapad. There was a Duros named Aldo who owed her a favor, but he was currently in the employ of Gordo the Hutt on Tatooine, a nephew of the Drafulla who sold her Mika. Gordo was running a small-time operation dealing with medical supplies and illegal procedures like non-standard cybernetics.

Aldo No owed her a favor for hiding him Boba Fett, though had she known why he wanted to lay low in her storage room at the time, she might have tossed him out on his ear. Apparently, No had borrowed money from Gordo to further modify his already overly-customized _Barloz_-class freighter, _Cannonball_. When he skipped out on the Hutt due to a run-in with Imperials, he continued to send Gordo money—probably the only reason Fett had been ordered to bring him in alive.

So, Aldo No wasn't an option—she wasn't going to put Mika anywhere near a Hutt, especially Gordo or Jabba. She took another sip of the wookiee liquor, and it burned all the way down, leaving a warmth in her stomach and making her eyes water. She blinked her nictitating membranes a few times and looked at the next possibility.

For the next half hour, she considered a half-dozen contacts, and discarded each possibility. Mika had to be kept safe from the Empire and the Inquisitorius, who she'd heard about but never actually seen. She didn't want to just cast the girl out or turn her over to someone who owed her a favor and who might in turn think to collect the bounty on her.

More and more, though, her mind kept returning to Andano. Part of her argued that at least he acted honorably, most of the time, and was dependable. He had other good qualities, too, but he also had a way with women, especially twi'leks for whatever reason. He was smooth operator with the ladies, known as much for his flings with beautiful women as for his record smuggling a wide variety of goods without ever getting caught.

She could picture him sitting at the bar almost as if it were yesterday, though it had been closer to two years. A tall, skinny human with short, platinum blonde hair, he wore that stupid leather flight jacket with the Galactic Army of the Republic patches on the shoulders. How many times had she warned him to take it off before some irate Imperial saw it? That would be the end of his career, then, for sure.

She hadn't seen him since, though the last she'd heard, he'd wound up in trouble down in the Arkanis sector. Would he be a good match for Mika, though? She didn't want her falling for Andano's boyish charm. It wasn't that she had anything against him, but she knew how he was and knew that he could never settle down. There wasn't a pair of lekku in existence that wouldn't turn his head.

Besides, he had his own problems to deal with when it came to the Empire, which was one of the reasons he couldn't afford to settle down, and Mika was vulnerable despite the tough exterior that she tried to project.

"Stang," she muttered, still no closer to a decision.

The door chimed.

"Come!" she yelled.

Isara came rushing in, clutching her robe to her chest. "We're having a problem with one of the patrons and Danya," she said.

"Danya?" she asked, surprised. For a moment, she thought for sure it was going to be Mika in trouble yet again. "Now, what?"

"A zabrak is getting all grabby and won't leave Danya alone."

"Oh, stang!" she growled in annoyance, getting up and setting aside the datapad and tumbler. "Come on, then. Have you alerted Sala?"

"No," she said, following her.

The bar was packed and the music was loud. Some new jizz-wailing bith band blared out of the jukebox—Figgy Dan and the Modal somethings or some such nonsense. She didn't really care for jizz-wailing. Several members of the crowd were looking towards the middle of the cantina, where a solitary zabrak dressed in grubby clothes and leather speeder bike jacket say, yelling something to Danya with a leering grin. His eyes were glued to her chest as he made a few clumsy attempts to paw at her. She dodged aside, yelling back at him as she used her empty tray like a shield.

"Sonofa—" Beriska growled, pulling out her comlink. "Sala! Where in blazes are you?"

Danya turned away and spotted Beriska, a relieved smile coming to her face, which quickly turned to a look of horror as the zabrak, unable to take no for an answer, grabbed Danya around her waist and pulled. She landed square in his lap and began squirming to get away.

Several of the members of the crowd laughed.

"Sala! Get in here, now!" Beriska yelled. "Get out of the way! Move!" She shoved a rodian out of the way. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mika look over at Danya from the bar where she was eating, and ice formed in her stomach. The girl had a distant, murderous look in her eyes, and her face had lost all expression. "No! Mika, sit down!" she roared over the crowd, leaping over the bar as two balosars scrambled out of her way. She suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. "Mika! Stay there!"

Mika either hadn't heard her, or had ignored her. She crouched low and raced around and behind the crowd, circling the zabrak. A feral growl came from her that drew even more eyes as the crowd realized that there was about to be bloodshed.

"Blast!" she yelled, racing to get to the table first, and realizing with a sinking feeling that she wasn't going to make it.

Danya shot her a pleading glance, then clawed at the zabrak's face as he groped her breasts.

"Ow, you stupid—" the zabrak roared over the laughter of the crowd as he pushed Danya into Beriska. He never got to finish his sentence.

He turned just as Mika, resembling a stalking sand panther, launched herself in a flying tackle that was too fast to be anything but Force-enhanced, and impacting the zabrak's midsection with the sickening crunch of ribs breaking. They flew backwards, overturning the table with a loud crash. Her growl had turned into a lunatic shriek that pierced the din of the cantina, and made Beriska's neck twitch at its intensity.

"Oh, kif!" Beriska yelled, trying to keep Danya from joining in the melee; the togruta kicked ineffectually at the zabrak, who was straddled by Mika as she pummeled his face mercilessly.

"Get this crazy _schutta_ off of me!" he roared, trying to cover himself with his arms.

She tossed Danya aside. "Get outta here!" she ordered, then tried grabbing Mika. Where in blazes was Sala? "Mika! Stop it!" she yelled, grabbing her arms, but the girl had wrapped her legs around the zabrak's midsection and clung to him.

"I'll kill you!" Mika screamed, tears pouring down her cheeks. She got an arm free and used it to break the zabrak's nose, sending blood splattering everywhere. "Don't you ever touch me or my sister again, you kiffing sleemo!" She got her other hand free, then grabbed the man by his horns and began slamming his head on the ground.

The crowd roared its approval.

"Mika!" Beriska yelled, grabbing the girl around her midsection and pulling with all her strength. Stang, the girl was _strong!_ After a brief struggle, she finally dislodged her and pulled her away, though the girl fought like a wild rancor. She got the distinct impression that whatever Mika was seeing, it wasn't the interior of the Blue Nebula.

Sala finally appeared, shoving people out of his way. He took one look at the senseless zabrak struggling feebly to sit up, and grabbed him by his shirt, lifting him easily with one arm.

"Get him out of here," Beriska ordered, then dragged Mika behind the bar.

"It was him!" she sobbed, covering her face. "I thought it was _him!_ Oh, stang! I swear—"

"Calm down, girl," she said, walking her into the back.

She shook her head. "He—he—," she stammered. "Then, she laughed at me! When I told her what he had done! She _laughed!_"

"Who laughed?"

"Is she all right?" Danya asked, following them into the office.

"I'm so sorry, Beriska," Mika cried. "I thought it was him!"

"She'll be all right," Beriska told Danya. The girl clung to her like a life preserver.

Danya chewed her lower lip and gazed thoughtfully at Mika, then gently put a hand on her shoulder in a show of compassion.

Andano better not even _think_ about looking at her cross-wise, Beriska sighed to herself; I'll neuter him myself if he does.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The bridge of the _Fury_ was brightly lit and bustling with activity as the _Imperial-_class Star Destroyer received its final preparations. On either side of the broad catwalk running the length of the bridge were parallel trenches swarming with technicians and maintenance personnel doing last minute repairs and upgrades. Several red and white astromechs were busy on the main deck near the back of the bridge, replacing old or faulty parts and repairing power nodes. Part of the ship's maintenance protocols required such repairs; a combat situation was not the place to have an old power relay blow out.

Presiding over the repairs was much of the senior command. Some strolled up and down the catwalk, hands folded behind their backs, stopping every so often to watch a repair in progress or ask a question. Several carried datapads that they would glance at occasionally as they watched the technicians.

One of these officers was Captain Markus Aiden, a short, slender man with sandy-blond hair and a thin, neatly trimmed mustache. His deep-set brown eyes sparkled with a cool intelligence as he surveyed the work being done on his ship. An Imperial veteran who'd seen his share of battles during the Clone Wars, he projected an air of confidence. Some of the crew affectionately joked that he resembled a kybuck jockey—those brave fellows who raced the furless relatives of tauntauns at breakneck speeds.

There was indeed more than a passing resemblance to those jockeys, and although he was slender and fine-boned, those of the crew who'd served with him all these years aboard the _Fury_ knew that beneath his frail exterior was steel. Stern but fair, he ran a tight ship where it mattered, and yet, left the men to their vices when they were off-duty. As long as it was limited to card-games, beer, and girly magazines, he looked the other way. Such plausible deniability went a long way towards earning his crew's absolute trust—a rarity in the Empire that valued uniformity and obedience over individuality and loyalty.

Also present was the First Officer, Senior Commander Wes Baxian, a tall, dark-haired man with blue eyes and an ever-present grin. Friendly and affable, he'd served with the Captain for almost ten years and knew Aiden's quirks well enough to steer around them. He was infamous for his laughing demeanor when the _Fury_ was in the midst of combat and her turbolasers were blazing. This didn't exactly inspire confidence in the crew, who thought him a bit mad, but his encyclopedic knowledge of tactics made up for it. He knew naval strategy better than most theater admirals, and could usually out-think anyone foolish enough to run against the _Fury_.

His relationship with the Captain was therefore one of mutual respect. Baxian wasn't reckless, and he didn't take risks beyond those he was sure he could overcome. Aiden knew he could rely implicitly on Baxin's advice, and Baxian in turn acted as a buffer between the more stern Captain and the junior officers who were often intimidated by Aiden upon meeting him for the first time. Oh, he'd graduated from Prefsbelt with top honors and obeyed Imperial protocols and laws scrupulously, but he saw no reason why he shouldn't enjoy his job, and why he shouldn't inspire that same joy in other crewmen.

The commander of the _Fury_, though, stood looking out of the large window at the front of the bridge with his hands clasped behind his back. Inquisitor Nilas was a tall, powerfully-built man with short, dark hair that had patches of gray on the sides. His face was broad and angular, and had the look of chiseled granite. His heavy-lidded gray-blue eyes had fine lines at their corners and were like chips of ice. His mouth was pulled down in a perpetual frown, and he held himself rigid. He wore the crimson cloak of an Inquisitor, and his black pants were tucked into combat boots. He also wore a black, long-sleeve shirt made of cher-silk. His aurodium belt buckle was engraved with the ancient Sith ideogram for Victory, and only a lightsaber hung from his belt on the left side.

Nilas wasn't impressed by gaudy affectations like jewelry and expensive chromos. He preferred utility over extravagance, an ethic which permeated his life. This crew would learn soon enough that they were here to do a job, and everything else came second. Duty was everything, and so was punctuality—where was his Adjutant? She was late, a pet peeve of his. He would have sensed her come aboard, yet, she was still unaccounted for.

He sighed, his face neutral as he watched droids crawl over the exterior of the Star Destroyer, patching, fixing, rewiring—there were hundreds of them. Spacetroopers also flitted about in rocket packs, escorting technicians in EVA suits as they inspected various parts of the hull and weapon emplacements. Out beyond the edge of the ship, the blackness of space beckoned.

The only blemish on his near-perfect record was the one Jedi who'd gotten away on Bonadon and somehow had vanished without a trace. That had been several years ago when he'd been working alone. Until he found her, his record would never be complete.

This time, though, he would have help—an apprentice to mold as he saw fit. He would hone this tool to a razor's edge and use her to enhance his standing while creating an ally that he would be able to call on again and again. He also had a ship of his own—a gift from Lord Vader himself which he suspected was a tool to fuel his ambitions while keeping him beholden to the dark Lord.

He felt a twinge in the Force and looked at the station, spotting a cargo skiff through the windows. On it was his Adjutant, he was sure of it, though she was no more than a speck from this distance. "Captain Aiden," he said quietly as he turned around, "Junior Commander Jaslin Paradas is about to come aboard. Please direct him to the aft cargo hold as soon as he does." He walked quickly to the turbolift on the side of the bridge, not bothering to wait for a response.

"Right away, my lord," Aiden responded, snapping a finger at a junior officer.

Nilas was curious to meet this new apprentice of his, whose pretty face wouldn't save her if she turned out to be the ISB sleeper agent for the _Fury_. Every Star Destroyer in operation had an Imperial Security Bureau agent aboard it as a fail-safe with codes for taking control of the ship should there ever be a mutiny or should the Captain decide to go rogue or defect. The operative's identity was always a secret, but Nilas was too careful not to have foreseen this eventuality. He'd had Paradas' quarters swept for bugs and hidden compartments, and now, he would personally see to scanning her himself; the ISB was famous for subcutaneous implants.

He quickly reviewed what he knew about her. Only twenty-four, she'd enlisted on Ywllandr and was sent to Ord Mynock for basic training. She put in a request to be transferred to Carida so she could become a member of the 501st Legion—not just a regular stormtrooper. No, she wanted to be one of the elite. Such ambition and single-minded determination was admirable in one so young, and he planned to cultivate it in her in new directions, much the way he cultivated his plants in the tertiary cargo bay near his quarters.

Paradas' request was denied, however, and she was transferred to Prefsbelt to train as a naval pilot and mechanic as she showed a remarkable gift for piloting and repairing small ships. She'd received several reprimands for disparaging comments she's made to superior officers about what she claimed were flaws in the Sienar Fleet Sytems TIE fighter designs, something he secretly agreed with her on. However, one did not go around voicing such opinions if one wanted to climb the naval ladder.

She'd also failed her Force test miserably, and it took three years for the Inquisitorius to collect her and transfer her to Yaga Minor for two years for training. Up until that time, she had been continuing to request a transfer to Carida, but after her return from Yaga Minor, she became quite docile and obedient, quietly finishing her final year at Prefsbelt with no more complaints about TIE fighter designs or inefficiency of the command structure, and no more requests to be transferred to Carida. She graduated at the top of her class as a Senior Lieutenant, and if he hadn't selected her to be his Adjutant, she might have had a nice career as a head flight specialist or engineer aboard a Star Destroyer somewhere.

Of course, if she _had_ gotten her transfer to Carida, she probably would have wound up a member of the 501st Legion, if not coming to the attention of Lord Vader sooner rather than later. She would most likely have ended up serving as Vader's apprentice rather than his. His loss, Nilas thought cheerfully.

As a girl, she'd also seen action during the Clone Wars on Ywllandr, and had lost her only brother during an attack by Separatists. Her mother and father still lived there, and owned and managed several large farms. Apparently, her interest in being a stormtrooper stemmed from the clone troopers who'd helped push the Separatists out of her village. She hadn't been the only child struck with hero-worship of the clone troopers during the war. He could still recall the fervent fandom the galaxy at large had for those soldiers.

The turbolift door opened, and he proceeded down the corridor, crewmen darting out of his way as he went. It was a short walk to the aft cargo bay where the 2-1B medical droid waited for him in one of the storage bays he'd requisitioned. The broad corridor was little more crowded than he'd expected, filled with stormtroopers and crewmen making final preparations. An alarm sounded, signaling that the Star Destroyer was about to disengage from the docking arm.

He checked his chrono as he turned a corner and entered a broad corridor that ran the length of the ship and contained six mag-lev rail lines used to haul cargo and personnel. The aft cargo bay was straight back.

Paradas should be coming along shortly. He'd doctored her personnel file to change her identity to male and had sent orders that she was to bind her breasts to keep up appearances. He needed no rumors about him having secret dalliances with his apprentice, and as his apprentice, she would be uniquely gifted to infiltrate the crew's ranks and sniff out this ISB agent so he could be dealt with. Being someone's pillow friend would only be a distraction.

The door to the aft cargo bay was a massive blast door at the far end of a staging area full of crates and cargo containers being off-loaded from flat-bed cars. From there, they were carted into the cargo bay by skiffs and binary load lifters to be delivered to their final location.

The aft cargo bay itself was huge, at least thirty meters tall, one hundred and fifty meters long, and fifty meters wide. Along its sides were wide balconies at each level, beyond which were individual storage bays three meters high, five meters wide, and ten meters deep, each equipped with their own sets of blast doors. Cargo skiffs would pull up next to a balcony in front of a storage bay, and binary load lifters would unload the cargo. Turbolifts meant for personnel also connected each level.

The noise was a cacophony of machines and people as the final foodstuffs, water, and other supplies were hauled into place. He made his way to one of the turbolifts connecting each level, darting around several binary load lifters, and quickly entered. The doors closed, and silence fell.

His alcove was in the top corner, and as he went up, he felt the Star Destroyer's primary engines rumble to life through the deck of the turbolift. The cargo bay sat directly above the main engine turbine, so it was going to start getting warm at the top level.

The door opened, and the noise of repulsor craft and mag-lev cranes moving about washed over him, as did the heat. It was like being on some tropical planet. He quickly walked over to the end of the balcony where his storage bay stood sealed and inserted his code cylinder into the lock.

It beeped and the blast door opened, revealing a nearly empty storage bay. It contained a single long table on top of which were a series of hand-held scanners that the 2-1B medical droid standing next to the table would use on Paradas when she arrived.

"All is ready, sir," the droid said placidly.

He stood behind the table and crossed his arms. She was near. He could feel her, pulsing through the Force like a star. She was strong, that much he could tell immediately.

A few moments later, Paradas appeared, entering the storage bay, and clearly nervous. She carried a single black duffel bag with the Imperial emblem on its sides. Her uniform was crisp, though, and she smelled clean, as though she'd stopped to clean up in the sani-steam.

Another point in her favor, he thought to himself. She'd clearly put some effort into her appearance which showed attention to detail and pride in her image, admirable qualities in a Junior Commander, especially in _his_ apprentice.

She saluted and went to one knee, head lowered. "My lord."

At least she hasn't forgotten her etiquette, he sighed to himself. Nevertheless, she was late, and he told her so. His voice was soft, silken, but he allowed a little edge into it.

The effect on her was dramatic. She stiffened, and the emotions he sensed from her ranged from fear to insolence. She wisely gave no voice to what she undoubtedly wanted to say, but instead said, "I am sorry, my lord." She offered no excuses, merely took responsibility, another point in her favor.

He cocked his head. The Force seemed out of balance around her, almost…cloudy. It was very subtle, and unlike anything he'd ever sensed, but he sensed nothing sinister or dangerous about it, but it merited investigation. "See that it does not happen again."

"Yes, my lord."

"Master. When we are in public, you may refer to me as lord, but here in private the old forms of etiquette will be observed."

"Er, yes, Master."

He raised an eyebrow. Insolence? She wouldn't dare. He could sense her fear, though, and decided to heighten it. Being late was unacceptable, and if he had to learn such lessons the hard way, there was no reason she shouldn't. This wasn't Presbelt. "I hope for your sake this doesn't become a habit." He smiled inwardly as he sensed her fear sharpen.

"Yes, Master," she murmured.

"Now. Let's see if you're the ISB agent, shall we?" Her fear became palpable, and his eyes narrowed. Could she be? It would be a shame, with as strong as she was in the Force, but he would do what needed to be done. "Stand up and put your bag on the table."

"ISB, Master?" she asked, standing up.

"Yes. If you are the sleeper agent, you will die." There was no point in hiding it from her, and if she decided to try to escape, he was confident that he could overcome her. "The medical droid is going to scan you for subcutaneous implants and other devices. Remove your clothing and place it on the table."

Her eyes widened. "Master?" Her emotions were a swirl of embarrassment and fear and confusion.

What was she hiding? "Take off your clothes and put them on the table."

She stared at him momentarily in shock, then let her gaze drop submissively, though her emotions were anything but submissive. "Yes, Master." A blush began spreading down the pale skin of her neck as she began by removing her belt and boots.

Her unease concerned him not. He would take all precautions when he killed her, and consequences be damned. The ISB would not be pleased, and would undoubtedly try bringing him before the Inquisitorius for charges, but he would deal with that in time. He would arrange her death to look as though it was random, not selective. Inquisitors were known to lash out and kill naval officers who were incompetent or didn't move fast enough. That was _if_ she was the ISB agent. If not, he would have to adjust his plans, not a problem since he kept them fluid for just such reasons.

Before long, Paradas stood before him, wearing only a frown that she was struggling to repress as she stared distantly above his head.

He nodded to the medical droid. "Proceed."

"Please hold still," the medical droid said in its calm voice. It picked up a long, narrow scanner, resembling a black plastoid rod, and began slowly passing it over her back. "Arms out, please."

Her blush reappeared and spread to the top of her petite chest, but she did as instructed.

While she was scanned by the droid, he went through her clothing, looking for anything sewn into the seams or pockets. "Why were you late, Paradas?" he asked conversationally.

"I wasn't, Master," she said through clenched teeth.

He smiled at her discomfort. She would do as she was told whether she liked it or not. "Tardiness is a pet peeve of mine, Paradas." He examined her chrono, and found it was off by several minutes. "Your chrono is off."

He looked up, and noticed a tiny gem the size of a pea hanging between her small breasts by a fine aurodium necklace, though her identi-tags were on the table. He pressed the reset button on his chrono, which received its time from the ship's computer. It beeped, and the time jumped forward nine minutes. "_My_ chrono is off. Objection withdrawn," he said, turning back to her clothing. "What is that gem."

He sensed a flash sadness and anger in her, most likely at his question. "A gift I had given my brother on his last life day, Master," she answered quietly.

"As my apprentice," he said, going through her duffel bag and laying out each item, "you will ber expected to train. Four hours every morning, with a focus on lightsaber combat. Most of your work will be intelligence-gathering." He glanced up at her. "There will be no secrets between us. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Master."

He finished his inspection and looked up at her. "You object to the scanning because you think it's too intrusive?"

Her clenched her jaw, but said nothing.

"One can never be too careful when it comes to the ISB," he said, walking around her to examine her more closely, looking for the tiny scars that would indicate a subcutaneous implant. She was quite appealing physically, with small, firm breasts and slender hips. Her flat stomach showed the barest hint of muscles behind the skin. Such physical beauty, however, would matter not if an implanted listening device was found beneath her skin. "Scan the gem," he told the droid.

"You may relax," the medical droid said. It adjusted the scanner and passed it over the gem. After a moment, the droid lowered the scanner. "The gem is a kiffu heart-of-fire jewel, sir," it said, "of approximately two-point-oh-four carat weight."

"Why would you think I was an ISB agent, Master?"

"Are you?"

"No!" she said quickly, then added, "Master."

He sensed a subtle deception in her answer. "But…?" he prompted.

She sighed. "I did receive signals training, Master. Cryptography, that sort of thing."

He nodded. That was typical in training an Inquisitor. He walked behind her, his eyebrow going up as he said her back. "Very nice, Commander," he said, brushing a thumb over her tattoo. "Beautiful work."

"Thank you, Master."

"Personally, I don't care how you choose to adorn your skin. I'm sure the instructors at Prefsbelt must have loved it, however." He could imagine the hell she caught for it; the instructors could be brutal in how they frilled all individuality out of cadets.

"Not at all, Master," she said.

"Where did you have it done?"

"Prefsbelt."

"My scans indicate she is free of implants, sir," the medical droid said, walking behind the table. "However, she is slightly anemic, which may be caused by her ad—"

"That's fine," he told the droid, not interested in hearing the details about her diet. "You may dress, Paradas."

"Thank you, Master." She began dressing quickly.

"So, the Five Hundred and First, huh?"

Her anger and humiliation sharpened. "I've wanted to be a stormtrooper ever since I was a little girl. I _should_ have been transferred to Carida, Master."

"Dangerous business, second-guessing one's superiors," he murmured.

She finished putting on her shoes and stood stiffly at attention. "I'm sorry, Master," she apologized. "It just doesn't seem fair."

"Life isn't fair," he said, stepping up close behind her, "and anger breeds ambition. _I_ can teach you to harness your anger and level the playing field." There was something dangerous about her, something he was surprised to find himself attracted to. He started to reach out to touch her, but drew his hand back before he did.

"Yes, Master," she answered in a quiet voice.

"I can show you power you would _never_ have been able to achieve with the Five Hundred and First. With them, you would have been simply a tool for Vader to use. With me, you will be the _hand_ that wields such tools." Being an Inquisitor had given him power beyond his boyhood imaginings growing up in the streets of Coruscant's underbelly. "I will show you what true power is." He could sense her pulse racing; he leaned closer, putting his mouth near her ear. "Stormtroopers are _nothing_ compared to the power of the Force, and nothing is more powerful than the Dark Side of the Force. Do you want that power?"

"Yes, Master," she breathed, shivering.

"I don't believe you, Paradas."

"Yes, Master!" she shouted angrily.

He smiled at the fear and anger he felt roiling in her like a storm, powerful and violent. "Then by your words, you are mine, Paradas. Forget the Five Hundred and First. They are unworthy of your talents, and if they weren't wise enough to recruit one as dedicated as you, then why should you waste any tears over them?" He walked over to the table and began putting her things back in her duffel bag.

She stood quietly and watched him.

It was what she had wanted to hear, that validation, and he knew it. She was powerful, it was true, and had great potential. His iron fist would be clothed in velvet until she displayed a need for him to remove it. Her tardiness had turned out to be his mistake, and his magnanimity in that matter would give her cause to trust him a little more, something important to establish in the beginning.

He handed her the bag. "Come along, Paradas," he said, heading to the door. "I'll show you to your quarters."

"Yes, Master."

Paradas' quarters were located on the Senior Command deck, which required a special clearance code to reach. Located two decks below the level of the bridge, the corridor ran the width of the superstructure, with the turbolifts in the center. Her quarters were on the forward side of the corridor on the portside face of the superstructure, positioned below the auxillary sensor array. Nilas's quarters were opposite of hers, on the starboard side of the superstructure. Between them were the Captain and First Officer quarters, a large conference room, a droid bay, several smaller cabins belonging to the chief engineer and Chief of Security, and large chamber Nilas had converted into a training room.

When they stepped out of the turbolift, the portside corridor was occupied only by a meter-tall droid resembling a three-dimensional trapezoid of white plastoid, with yellow and black caution tape along its base. It hummed along, buffing the black deck plates to a high gloss.

"We will train every morning for four hours," Nilas said as they walked. "Two hours will be dedicated to lightsaber combat. After that, it's an hour of meditation and an hour of using the Force to gain mastery over your control of its flow." When they got to her door, he said, "Open it."

She inserted her code cylinder and the door hissed open.

Inside was a small sitting room. Along the left bulkhead was a comfortable-looking beige couch with an end table on both sides, and a white plastoid kaf table in front of it. Along the right bulkhead was a large viewscreen with a control panel next to it and recessed shelves below it. In the right corner was a recessed desk with a padded chair in front of it. Straight ahead was a large window a meter tall and three meters wide that looked out onto the prow of the ship. In the far left corner was a door that led to her sleeping quarters, which featured another window just above her bun and a large closed on the left, and another door beyond that which led to a private refresher room.

"Wow," she said, stepping in and looking around. She activated the lights.

Nilas sat on her couch and crossed his legs, resting one hand in his lap and one on the back of the couch. "A little bigger than what you had on Prefsbelt, no doubt," he said.

"Yes, sir, Master," she agreed from her sleeping quarters. "Permission to speak freely, Master?"

"Granted for the duration," he said. "Just be aware that I would prefer to keep your apprenticeship a secret, though some will just assume. No need to confirm or deny those assumptions, though." It would keep the crew guessing, that was for sure, and that was what he wanted. Let them stew and wonder; their confusion would allow him to move behind the scenes to accomplish his own goals.

"Yes, Master." She came out and stood before him. "Uh, why—why did you—"

"Please, sit. These are your quarters, so be at ease."

"Oh, right." She sat down on the other side of the couch. "Why did you assume I was an ISB agent?"

"You don't know, do you? Of course not. I should have realized," he said, pretending to be forgetful, though he knew fully well that she would have no knowledge of naval procedure at that level; the fact that she asked that question made it more likely in his mind that she wasn't an ISB agent. Or very gifted at subterfuge. "They don't teach classified naval intelligence protocol at Prefsbelt. You see, every Star Destroyer in operation, even the _Devestator,_ has on board a single ISB agent hidden among the crew. Usually, he or she is a member of the bridge or engineering crew, and their sole job is to ensure the execution of certain Imperial directives in the event of a mutiny or defection, and report any seditious activity."

"But I'm your Adjutant, Master, not a member of the bridge or engineering crew."

He smiled at the confusion she radiated. It was a good sign, further evidence that she was not the ISB agent. "Yes, but where better to place one than at my side, since I am in titular command of this ship? Such information like that is highly classified, but I can't afford to have a busybody running around the ship, second-guessing me and reporting to his or her superiors, and generally trying to thwart my activities."

"Am I correct in assuming that I will be helping to sniff out this snitch, Master?"

He smiled. "Indeed. It is an unspoken fact that the agendas of the Inquisitorius and the ISB do not always match, and I cannot do my job if I have to worry about being under their magnifying lens." There was more to it than that, far more, but his ambitions were too great to be impeded by the rank and file of the Imperial intelligence community. Even Vader might have frowned beneath that grotesque mask of his had he known the full extent of Nilas' ambitions. He wasn't about to see all of his work washed away by some petty bureaucrat attempting to curry favor with his or her masters.

"I see," she said. "Will I be required to kill him?"

"No. Under no circumstances are you to approach him or her other than to monitor their activity and disseminate disinformation as I direct. If you would have turned out to be the agent, I would have had no choice but to kill you, because I wouldn't have been able to keep you distant enough if I am to train you, and the ISB would get suspicious if I refused to train you." He shrugged. "If I kill the sleeper agent now, the ISB would merely replace them and I'll have to spend months finding them again. Instead, we will use them to allow the ISB to learn what we want them to, and nothing else."

His comlink chimed. "My lord," the Captain's voice said, "we are ready to depart."

"Good," he answered. "I'll be there momentarily." He stood up and headed for the door. "Come along, Paradas. Let's go see to our maiden voyage."

The bridge was no longer brightly lit, and all save crewmen had left. Captain Aiden stood near the front of the bridge, his hands folded behind his back as he looked out the window. Next to him was Commander Baxian, standing sideways to the Captain. The docking arm had been withdrawn and all final preparations had been made.

"Proceed, Captain," Nilas said, joining him at the front.

Paradas stood to the side of him and back a ways.

The Captain nodded sharply. "Ensign Koble, are all mooring cables away?"

"Aye, sir," a young, pimply-faced crewman answered from the portside trench.

"Ensign Valens, takes us out at quarter-speed, level on the bow-plane."

"Aye, sir!" Valens answered. "All ahead quarter speed, bow-plane on the level!"

"Lieutenant Dormon, activate the concussion shields," the Captain said.

"Activating concussion shields," a young Kuati man said from the starboard trench. An alarm rang once, and the lights on the bridge dimmed. "Concussion shields are on-line and green across the board."

Nilas watched as the _Fury_ pulled away from the station. The engine rumble vibrated through the deck as they picked up speed.

"We are clear of the station," Ensign Koble announced.

"Increase our speed to two-thirds and come about to—" the Captain started to say, pausing to glance at the galactic compass above the window, "—one-seven-three-mark-five, ten degrees positive on the bow-plane."

"Conn, new heading," Ensign Valens called out, "one-seven-three-mark-five, ten degrees positive on the bow-plane. All ahead two-thirds."

"Status report, Ensign Koble. All stations check in."

"Aye, sir. Stand by," the young officer called out. "Weapons, check. Shield generators, check. Flight deck, check. Engineering, check. Sensors, check. Life support, check. The bridge is green, sir."

"How soon until we pass out of Bilbringi's gravity well?"

"Thirty seconds at current speed, sir."

"When we clear, level the bow-plane and prepare the ship for a jump to hyperspace."

"Aye, sir," both Lieutenant Dormon and Ensign Valens said.

Several moments later, Ensign Koble said, "We are clear of Bilbringi's gravity well."

"Leveling the bow-plane!" Ensign Valens said. "Ship is level as she goes."

Space was a three-dimensional medium, not unlike traveling through the atmosphere of a planet, only without the visual cues of the ground below, or more importantly, gravity, to give a sense of orientation. So instead, an imaginary plane had been drawn through the center of the galaxy horizontally to establish "up" and "down." Diving below or climbing above the galactic plane was indicated by negative or positive increments of the bow-plane, the "nose" of the ship. Horizontal orientation was established by running an imaginary line from the "northern" edge of the galaxy to the "southern" edge through Coruscant. That meridian divided the galaxy into two halves of one-hundred and eighty degrees each. Zero true "north," while One-eighty was true "south."

Thus, the _Fury_ was headed "south-southeast," and had climbed above the galactic plane before levelling off.

"Lieutenant Ivers," the Captain said, looking at an astrogation chart on his datapad, "plot a hyperspace jump to the Bengat system."

"Aye, sir," a dark-skinned officer said from the middle of the starboard trench.

So it begins, thought Nilas, the thrill of the hunt filling him. By the time they drew near to Coruscant, the Inquisitorius would undoubtedly have his next target for him, and hopefully, he would know the identity of the ISB agent.

He wasn't overly worried. He was no longer concerned that it was his Adjutant, which would have been a clever ploy, but one he had already suspected, and now had ruled out. More important was the spy network he'd built up with the help of an old Quarren friend named Netessan. They would find the twi'lek Jedi sooner or later, and when they did, nothing would keep him from his destiny.

He grinned outwardly, not even noticing that several crewmen blanched at the sight of it, including his Adjutant.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The droid popper went off too close.

With a flicker, the nightsight circuitry in his helmet died. "Damn it, Trace!" he shouted angrily, tearing the helmet off and firing at several B1 battle droids that somehow survived. It was night time, with only the flashes of blasters and exploding grenades, reflecting off the smoke clouds for light. Without the helmet, normal vision was useless.

"Sorry, sir!" the clone commando apologized, though he sounded anything but apologetic; in fact, it sounded like there was a muffled snicker in his voice. "They were too close, and—"

The ground seemed to jump up underneath them as a mortar exploded with a deafening roar less than five meters away. The fiery blast lit up the night and sent smoking, rocky fragments flying in all directions.

Andano tossed the fried helmet aside. "Get Six on the radio!" he yelled over the noise of battle. Without the helmet, the din was astonishingly louder. "Tell him to get some air support over here and pound that kiffing hill!" They were in a large crater, the perimeter of which he quickly circled to reach the corpse of a clone trooper. As he reached for the helmet, two B1 battle droids crested the crater's edge. "Trace!" he cried, diving out of the way as they opened fire.

"Got 'em!" Trace hollered, blasting one in the head and the other square in the chest. Are you okay, sir?"

"Just dandy!" He quickly took the battered helmet off the dead clone trooper, saying a silent prayer to whatever gods there were that it still worked, and put it on. When he reached under the chin and activated it, the helmet's circuitry came to life. He breathed a sigh of relief as the battlefield once again clarified in shades of green. "Where's Six?"

No sooner had he asked then four clone commandos dived into the crater as angry red streaks of blaster fire darted overhead.

"We got company, sir!" Six said, getting up and firing over the edge of the crater.

"In the distance, the hydraulic thumping of a crab droid's locomotion could be heard.

"And my kiffing gun is jammed!" Boomer said, hitting the side of his Z6 rotary cannon with his fist. "These damned things!"

The side of the crater little more than six or seven meters away from their position disintegrated in a fiery explosion as a missile from a Hailfire droid hit, peppering them with red hot rocks.

"Bloody hell!" Andano shouted, more than a little fear coursing through him, though his training soon came to the fore and he regained a measure of calm. If that crab droid wasn't taken out, though… "Trace! Get on that ridge and give us some cover fire! Stitch, see what you can do to help with that crab droid!" He fired at a battle droid that had appeared on the other side of the crater, and its head exploded in a shower of sparks. The damned droids were converging on their position, and would soon be crawling all over them.

"Yes, sir!" the two clone commandos said, crawling up to the ridge and firing away at the droids.

"Boomer! Gizmo! Take out that kiffing Hailfire droid!" He crawled up to the edge of the crater to peer over the edge. "Six! Get on the comm and get us air support! Tell them to pound that hill two klicks over!" He would do it himself, but Six had the codes in his radio for contacting orbital support.

"Yes, sir!" Boomer said. "You heard 'em, boys! It's time to play kick the can!" His rotary cannon finally clicked and the barrel rotated into place, and he stood up and opened fire. His gun was louder than the rest of theirs combined, and it poured fiery destruction into the ranks of the advancing battle droids, tearing through them like a shredder.

They were pinned down in a large crater, with dozens of clankers still approaching, crawling over the sparking remains of their kin. A crab droid was rapidly approaching from the southwest, moving with a frightening, darting motion, and a Hailfire was approaching from the east. To the southeast was a hill that the droids had dug into with heavy artillery where much of the blaster fire was coming from. Dozens of fires burned across the rocky, desert wastes, marking the graves of hundreds of wrecked crab and Hailfire droids; the litter of B1 battle droids make the whole valley look like a vast junkyard. Dotting the landscape were too many corpses of the fallen clone troopers.

Boomer and Gizmo focused their fire on the Hailfire droid, managing to hit one of the missile racks and causing it to explode in a blinding flash. Missiles went scudding in all directions in twisting paths, taking out B1 battle droids wherever they exploded. The Hailfire droid's side was shredded, and it spun out of control, flying over a hill and crashing to a smoking stop ten meters away.

Trace and Stitch, meanwhile, concentrated their fire on the crab droid while Andano laid down cover fire, picking off B1 battle droids who got too close. The two clone commandos managed to take out one of the crab droid's photoreceptors, and it began firing blindly, hitting the smoking wreck of the Hailfire droid and several more B1 battle droids. A well-aimed droid-popper finished it off.

"We need air support!" Six shouted into his visual wrist comm. "Sector aurek-seven-seven-niner! Approach vector is south of target! Send in the heavies!"

"Copy that, Sigma," the radio crackled. "ETA is three minutes for heavies."

"They're on the way, sir!" he said, crawling up beside Andano and sniping at the battle droids.

The situation was getting desperate—they were surrounded by dozens of battle droids converging on their location, and using the electrobinocular circuitry built into the helmet, Andano could see droids on the hill struggling to turn a piece of heavy artillery to target their location. If they start ranging in on us, he thought, it's only going to take three or four shots.

It was supposed to have been a simple infiltration and sabotage mission for him and the men of his squadron. They were supposed to get in and take out a fortress the Separatists had built into a foot hill five klicks to the east, where there was a secret refueling depot. Inside was enough fuel and ordinance to outfit a regiment.

Some idiot up in orbit, however, hadn't waited for the signal and had sent down the troops too soon, and the result was a hellish ground battle with heavy casualties. Their only luck lay in the fortress' shields being only partially operational—they were strong enough to cover the top of the foothill and protect it from orbital bombardment, but there was a tunnel at the base of the hill that was unshielded. When he got back to one of the _Venators_, there was going to be hell to pay.

"Get down!" Boomer shouted, though he sounded distant.

"What the hell…?" Andano started to yell, turning around. "Oh, poodoo!" He pushed Trace down as four Hailfire missiles streaked past less than a meter overhead.

Boomer had worked his way over to the destroyed Hailfire droid and had wedged the missile rack that hadn't exploded up on a metal beam and had manually launched the remaining missiles, with devastating results.

Battle droids vanished in fiery explosions that shredded them and sent red-hot fragments flying in all directions. One B1 battle droid had the presence of mind to say, "This is bad," before catching a missile right in the chest. Andano doubted that there was enough left of it to put into a lunch box.

Gizmo stuck his head up above the missile rack. "I'm a firm believer in recycling, sir!"

"Did you see—?" Boomer was laughing, doubled over. "That stupid clanker!"

"When you two are done playing," Andano shouted, picking off another droid, "we've got a hill to storm!" He wanted to be mad at them, but those missiles had put a gap in the line of battle droids. Now, they just had to make it to the fortress.

Kandamas was like many other lifeless backrocket planets that he and his men had stormed to take out Separatist nests. It was a barren, rocky world dotted with low mountains and foothills covered with ugly purplish-green ferns and scrub plants. It had little to offer other than its out-of-the-way location with which to hide a base.

They'd all dropped into the atmosphere on the other side of the planet, and flew their ARC-170s low to the deck to stay below the sensor net, flying deep in canyons to further hide their presence. They hid their fighters under a rocky outcropping behind a ridge about ten klicks from the fortress and went the rest of the way on foot.

The ridge had been the only truly high ground in this valley which stretched several dozen kilometers in all directions towards a ring of low mountains and canyons, besides the escarpment ito which the Separatist fortress was built.

They'd made it three klicks, dodging behind boulders and staying low despite the pitch darkness of the night, when the fortress lit up with search lights and weapons fire. LAATs dropped out of the sky carrying clone troopers, the battle droids began massing at the foot of the escarpment, and all hell broke loose.

It was Geonosis all over again.

"Fighters inbound, sir!" Trace yelled.

Boomer and Gizmo whooped and hit the dirt next to him.

"Go! Go! Go!" Andano shouted, climbing up over the edge of the crater and blasting clankers as he raced for the base of the escarpment. Red streaks of blaster fire lanced all around, looking like the flashes of angry fire beetles.

Overhead, three CEC-111B Raiders came screaming in overhead, their belly turrets blazing away with ion fire at the clankers. When they reached the hill where the droids had dug in with the heavy artillery, they dropped their loads of ion bombs. Bluish light flashed as subsonic _crumps_ shattered the air, and the fighters circled back around to pick off more droids.

The triangular Raiders weren't pretty, resembling a pair of mandibles off a YT-1300 with a cockpit strapped between them and engines bolted on the back, but they were lethal against droids. The Republic had less than a hundred of them, all prototypes from CEC attempting to win the starfighter contract, but in the end, Incom and Koensayr won out. It was a shame, too, because the Raiders were as tough as durasteel rivets.

"Come on, you flesh bags! You wanna live forever?" Andano shouted, running for the escarpment. It was only a dozen meters away. There was a flash of light.

He sat up, gasping for air as his heart tried pounding its way out of his chest. His skin was clammy, and the bedsheet in his clenched fist was damp with sweat. Even after all these years, it was still so real! He could still feel the rocky ground of Kandamas beneath his feet, and could still smell the stink of sweat and plastoid armor, the ozone of blaster fire and scorched rocks.

He closed his eyes and taking several deep breaths to purge the terror coursing through his body. He unclenched his fists and the knot in his stomach began to loosen. He slowly opened his eyes and took a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand.

The bed chambers were dark, but a pale orange glow from the street lamps in the main cavern filtered through the sliding glass doors that lead onto the balcony and caused the gauzy white curtains to luminesce. A very old mechanical clock that displayed the phases of Ryloth's five moons on its face stood in the corner, its fanciful pendulum carved from a single piece of quartz crystal ticking softly as it swung back and forth. The quiet, vibrato hum of an airspeeder rose and faded as it passed by, and the sigh of the air vents came on as the atmospheric regulator started up.

They were the calm, quiet night sounds of a domestic life, not the sounds of battles fought long ago across a dozen worlds. They were comforting in their regularity, their orderliness a bastion against the memories of war he could never forget. He wore six thin, durasteel identi-tags to prevent him from forgetting, tokens of the men who'd been family to him. They'd been brothers in arms, forged in the fires of battle and tempered with a love and respect borne of adversity. They'd been _his_ men, damn it! Not the GAR's. _His._ Their fate had been unjust and undeserved, and their blood stained his soul like a tattoo, marking him forever with indelible guilt.

He exhaled a heavy sigh, feeling as though the military identi-tags were neutronium weights around his neck. He lay back and glanced to his left; lying next to him in silent slumber was Neela, a lethan, or red-skinned twi'lek. She had a pretty smile that made her cheeks dimple, and he was amazed that she hadn't been kidnapped years ago to serve as a slave to some Hutt. She was tougher than most thought, though, due not in the least to him training her in using a blaster properly.

Neela lay facing away from him, her right leg drawn up as she hugged a pillow. The bare skin of her back rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, and her lekku twitched fitfully. The sheet was bunched around her waist, revealing her long, shapely legs; around the right ankle was a finely-wrought aurodium chain he'd given her on her life day last week.

Though they shared a bed, Neela was only a close friend, and while he trusted her more than most, he also knew that if she had her way, she'd be pregnant just to keep him around, but that was something he couldn't allow. It wasn't because he didn't want children—he'd love to have a daughter to spoil. He just couldn't put that child in danger where someone might try to strike a blow at him through her, or her mother. The Empire would have no compunction about holding a child, especially a twi'lek-human child, hostage to get at him.

He turned on his side and slid closer to Neela, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of her skin, a smell that reminded him of sun-baked stones and wild grass, with the sweetness of sage plants. His visits to Ryloth were infrequent out of concern for her safety; he didn't want anyone tracking him to her, though he did this for all the people he associated with. When he visited, every moment of the few weeks he'd stay he'd spend in her company.

This visit, however, the dreams had returned, and they weren't something easily explained away by a bit of indigestion, or too much _corrvum_, the twi'lek beer brewed from mushrooms. Over the last two weeks he'd been here, he'd had dreams like this, flashbacks to the Clone Wars, at least every other night. Neela's solution was to focus her rather amorous attention him to the point of exhaustion, and while her intentions were good and her attempts enjoyable, it wasn't helping. His instincts told him something was coming, and were warning him to beware. Of what, he had no idea, and that was the problem.

It was time to be moving on again, he decided an old, familiar ache of loneliness swept through him. He'd tried to put the past behind him so that he could move on and try to survive in the Emperor's new version of the Republic—a farce, if he ever saw one. He's built a new life as a highly successful smuggler, and with it, a reputation for always delivering on time. Such a life required that he not stay in one place too long; it was too dangerous, both to himself and to all he associated with. Some nights, he'd often wondered if it wouldn't have been better to die with his men rather than wander the galaxy, a survivor of Palpatine's treachery.

"Kryss?" Neela murmured sleepily, rolling over onto her back and looking at him through half-lidded eyes. "What's wrong, _paka_?"

He smiled faintly at her use of the word _paka,_ Ryl for "loved one" or "beloved." "Go back to sleep, Nee-nee," he said softly, wrapping an arm across her chest, just below her breasts.

She pulled her lekku back and rolled onto her side to face him, looking concerned. "You had another dream." She brushed the side of his face with her left lekku. "Poor _paka_."

"It's all right," he said, running the backs of his fingers over her shoulder.

"Poodoo." She pushed him onto his back and draped herself across his chest, one leg thrown over both of his. "You go to sleep," she said, nestling her head on his chest. "After last night, you should have been too tired to even roll over."

He grinned. "Such a naughty one, you are," he chuckled. "Ow!"

She'd bitten his chest lightly with her small, sharp teeth. "Don't you forget it, _wermo_." She put her head back down after giving him a meaningful stare. "What was the dream about?"

"What dream? Ow! Damn it, Neela!" he laughed.

She grinned at him, her large, dark brown eyes unrepentant. "You're a terrible liar."

"I didn't want you to think your efforts were ineffective," he reasoned.

"Why, so I'd keep trying?" she scoffed.

"Well, there's that," he teased.

She bit him just above his left nipple. Hard.

"Ow! Look, you little sand panther!" he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulder and flipping her onto her back, his legs on either side of her as his hands pinned hers above her head. "I think you drew blood!"

"Comes with being a scoundrel!" she responded, nipping lightly as his throat. "An incorrigible one, at that."

He grinned. "I didn't hear any complaints last night." He nuzzled her neck, breathing her in as he kissed the base of her throat.

"Well, there's that," she chuckled.

"You're lucky I'm tired, Neela," he said, rolling onto his back again.

"Aw, poor _paka_," she said, raising her eyebrows in sympathy as she draped herself over him and lay her head back on her chest.

"Mmm," he said, closing his eyes.

They laid together in silence, her stretched out on top of him. He began running his nails lightly across her back and she sighed contentedly. Her skin was warm against his, and he could feel every gentle curve of her body. She entwined her fingers around the fingers of his other hand down by his hip and squeezed gently. It was so comfortable laying there, and he wanted to freeze it in his mind for when he left so he had something to remember.

"Mmm," she purred softly. "You're putting me to sleep, _paka_."

"So sleep," he murmured.

"You're the one who needs sleep, _koochoo_." She squeezed his legs between hers and propped herself up on her elbows, then began kissing the skin by his collar bone.

"That isn't going to help me sleep, you know."

"Well, not right away," she giggled, kissing him and nipping at his lower lip.

"Ow, you little—"

She laughed, grinning mischievously. "We twi'lek women like to mark our territory, and you, dear _paka_, have gone unclaimed far too long."

"With good reason," he said, gently stroking her lekku.

Her eyes closed in pleasure as a shiver went down her back. "Stop trying to distract me," she said huskily, opening her eyes just a little. "I know you'll be leaving soon, and I want to make sure you remember me."

He used both hands to stroke her lekku, brushing his fingers delicately along their length.

She bit her lower lip. "I wish you'd take me with you."

"I can't, Neela. It's too dangerous."

"I'd be safe with you," she murmured, kissing him.

"You'd be in _more_ danger with me. You're safer here. Trust me."

She frowned and looked angry. "You just don't want me meeting all the other twi'lek women you—"

"My reputation is greatly exaggerated, I assure you," he laughed.

Her eyes widened. "So, you admit it! You _are_ a scoundrel!"

"Um, what other twi'lek women?"

"Too late, buster," she said, grinning. "I guess I'll just have to mark what belongs to me!" She bit his collar bone.

"Ow!" he howled. Sure enough, he was bleeding. "Stang, that hurt!"

"Good!" she scoffed unsympathetically. "You'll remember _me_ when you're in _their_ arms!"

She then tried making him forget all about those other twi'lek women, leaving plenty of bite marks just in case he forgot. She also managed to make him forget all about the Clone Wars, too, for a little while, at least.

Neela lay curled up on her side afterwards, facing him with a smug, self-satisfied grin that made him smile. He watched her fall asleep, her breathing slowing as she drifted off. It would be easy, he knew, to just accede to her desires and make himself vulnerable. There were times when he longed to settle down, but the danger was just too great, and the last time he had tried that, it had been a disaster.

Luka had been his only serious relationship since the war, and he'd loved her to the point of distraction. A pretty-faced rutian, or blue-skinned twi'lek, she'd wound up pregnant, and whe she miscarried, had blamed him and his past. She'd broken something in him, and even if he cared to try, he knew he just couldn't bring himself to trust anyone that far again. It was a hard lesson, but one that he had learned well.

Sure, he knew more than a few twi'lek women up and down the Corellian Run—they were some of the prettiest women in the galaxy in his opinion—and while he might occasionally take a little easy comfort in their warm embrace, it was always with the understanding that it would never be anything serious. At most, it would fill the howling loneliness for a little while. So no matter how possessive Neela might be, and no matter how badly she wanted him for her own, it could never be.

When he was sure she was asleep, he slipped out of bed and dressed. He needed fresh air to clear his head of such foolish thoughts. He pulled on his clothes quickly and quietly—black durafiber pants, heavy duty combat boots, a white, button-down shirt and black leather vest, and his gunbelt with the heavy blaster pistol slung low on his right hip. He grabbed his old leather flight jacket with its GAR patches and ducked out.

The city of Nawara was built inside of a very small mountain maybe five kilometers across at the base. On the inside, it resembled a rough-hewn, inverted bowl with a large hole in its top and one on the south side ground level. In the center of the city was a large, sandy round pit about a kilometer across, lined with hangar bays built into the sides of the terraced levels that rose up on all sides. A wide boulevard split the terraced levels and connected the landing pit to the side entrance for landspeeders, while most starships came in through the top opening about a kilometer overhead.

The two main entrances were equipped with blast doors to protect the city from the sandstorms that ravaged Ryloth's surface, and numerous exterior openings and tunnels throughout the city acted as a natural vaporator, keeping Nawara's cisterns full of water. Because Ryloth was tidally locked around its star, one side of the planet always faced the star. Most of the cities were in the twilight belt, but Nawara was the farthest city day-ward on the planet. Thus, the solar energy would heat up the outside of the mountain during the day, and radiate that heat into the city slowly, keeping the temperature balmy but comfortable.

Many of Nawara's residents and businesses were built right into the sides of the terraces, but Neela's apartment was in one of the adobe-like structures that lined the outside edges of the terraces. Torch trees, metal poles containing four torches at the top, lined the streets, providing a flickering orange light. He could see pin-points of light from torch trees clear across the vast cavern. He climbed down the stairs from her second-story, front-balcony that she shared with other apartments, and walked down the winding, cobblestone street.

There were a few twi'leks here and there—Nawara, like other cities on Ryloth, had no discernible diurnal cycle; it was always mid-morning in appearance. Thus, businesses were always open, and there were always places to go and things to see. While most of Nawara's population were twi'lek, there were plenty of humans, Rodians, and even the occasional Hutt.

Twi'leks weren't very technologically sophisticated, so besides landspeeders and the occasional airspeeder, two wheel carts were fairly common, a strange juxtaposition. The carts were often pulled by rycrits, a type of four-legged herbivore found on Ryloth and used for food and labor, and kybucks imported from off-world.

Even more out of place were the occasional neon signs attached to the fronts of the quaint, archaic-looking buildings advertising various businesses such as cantinas, brothels, hotels, tattoo parlors, and hokuum dens. Twi'leks always seemed to import and emulate the worst the galaxy had to offer—must be something in their nature, he surmised. For many less-advanced races, the lure of such things was often too tempting to resist.

"You got the time?" a tall, a shadow asked, coming out of the alley between a tattoo parlor and a cantina. He was a green-skinned twi'lek, dressed in boots, cargo pants and a grungy trench coat. He had a tattoo of a black serpent entwined around his left lekku. His right hand was in the pocket of his coat where there was a familiar-looking bulge.

"'Course he does," his friend growled, coming up behind Andano. He was a short, stocky twi'lek with pale skin and more brawn than brain. Dressed in sneakers, jogging pants, and a muscle shirt, his musculature was well-defined. "Credits, too."

"Sorry, _pateesas,_" Andano said. "My old lady has all my money."

"Don't use that slug tongue around us! We ain't your friends, either." He snatched Andano's blaster.

"And you better make with the money quick," the green-skinned twi'lek said.

Andano sighed. "Just give me my blaster back and walk away," he said. It was charity, really, offering them any warning at all, but he didn't want to ruin his vacation. Or his shirt; there was bound to blood spilled here if they didn't heed his advice.

Several people across the street had stopped to watch this exchange.

"You're dead," the green twi'lek started to say.

Andano's reflexes hadn't slowed with age. Sensing what the outcome would be, he's shifted his balance subtly, and now stepped back and to the right of the thug behind him, correctly guessing the twi'lek wouldn't think to check the safety. At the same time, he lashed out with his fist, crushing the green twi'lek's larynx. Then, everything happened at once.

The muscle-brain tried firing Andano's blaster, getting only a click out of it.

The green one, clutching at his throat with his free hand and gagging for air, fired reflexively, hitting the muscle-brain in the left hip instead of hitting Andano.

"You hit me, you kiffin' koochoo!" the muscle-brain screamed, falling to the ground.

Andano, meanwhile, grabbed the green twi'lek by a lekku, making him shriek in agony, and swung him into his fallen companion, then moved well to the side as the thug tripped and fell over. He delivered a kick to the muscle brain's jaw that shattered teeth, and picked up his blaster. Flicking the safety off, he shot the green one in the chest, killing him instantly. "Always check the safety, _wermo_," he told the muscle-brain. Then, he shot him, too.

The street had fallen silent in the few seconds this had taken, and as he flicked the safety back on and holstered his pistol, the spectators shrugged and went about their business. One thing about Ryloth was that while their might have been a police force, the justice of the street usually prevailed. If someone tried robbing a person, and that person killed the would-be thief, then justice was served as far as the police were concerned. This was something deeply ingrained in twi'lek culture; it was better to ride the storm, so they said, then to stand to face it and be knocked down.

He didn't care for killing at all—he'd seen enough death in the war to last him a lifetime—but he had no problem pulling the trigger when someone was threatening him or someone he considered a friend. No on threatened him or the people that the Force saw fit to place in his life and got away with it.

The floor of the Pit, as the lowest level was called, was covered in the fine, gritty sand blown in through the side entrance of Nawara, and was several dozen meters below the first terrace. The Pit was about a quarter-kilometer across and its walls were lined with hangar bays. From above, it looked like a giant "key-hole," with the bottom pointing towards the blast doors on the side.

All the hangars were equipped with retractable doors and locks. Security was light because most ships berthed here had security systems of their own that dealt quickly, and often lethally, with would-be thieves. Down in the Pit, the smells of ship fuel and ozone permanently stained the air brown with their stench. Boxes and crates were stacked around the periphery, and maintenance droids skittered about. All but a dozen or so hangars contained ships, and at least half of that number had their doors rolled down.

One ship, a newer YT-1930 with a white and blue paint scheme, was under repair by an older scarred human with a shaggy blond beard. He was yelling at a couple of ASP droids as they carried cargo up the ramp.

"Need any help?" Andano asked.

"Nah," the older human answered. "Just flushing out the hydraulics on this landing gear, which might get done before next year if these droids would do it right!"

Two berths down was Andano's ship, a highly-modified YT-1500FP transport named _Glory Days_, though it was currently using the transponder codes for another 1500 out of Ord Mantell named _Best Guess_. Built by CEC—the only company he'd buy from—the YT-1500FP wasn't as big as the newer 1930s, or its more popular predecessor, the 1300, but it still utilized the same saucer shape of the YT-series. However, it lacked the typical forward mandibles, and its back-end was flat. Where the mandibles should have been was a forward-facing docking ring, underneath which was the boarding ramp was located. The cockpit was located above and behind the center of the saucer, offering a superior view and giving the ship a swept look.

He'd worked for CEC for a few years after the close of the Clone Wars, flying cargo, repairing ships, and that sort of thing. It was his time there that made loyal to the Corellian ships. Easily modifiable in countless variations, they offered durable ships that were fast and easy to fly while still keeping their prices down.

The _Glory Days_ was far from defenseless, here. Her "security system" stood guard at the base of the boarding ramp. "You're early," Bull's Eye said. An IG-86 with a modified DC-17 blaster rifle, the droid was an impressive relic from before the Clone Wars that people underestimated at their peril. He'd been rebuilt and customized by Bright Eyes, an eccentric, outlaw droid tech living way out in Smuggler's Run, and he'd cost a small fortune but was worth every deci-cred. He was called Bull's Eye for a reason, and whether it was in a turret or with a blaster rifle, the results were always devastating.

"No trouble?" Andano asked.

"Why? You expectin' some?" The droid flicked the safety off, and the rifle's capacitor charged with a rising, high-pitched whine. "I got the cure right here."

He snorted. Where in blazes had the droid picked up talking like some gunslinger out of a holodrama? "I should hope not."

"Could've fooled me. Or do you always invite the fuzz over for a little chat?"

"What?" He turned around and saw a sleek black landspeeder with a red and blue bubble on top pull to a stop in front of his berth. "Now, what?" he muttered, walking over.

"You want I should blast 'em?"

"Certainly not!" Ridiculous! Was it his imagination, or had the droid grown bloodthirsty lately?

A pale skin twi'lek in a dark blue uniform stepped out. "'Morning, Kryss."

He sighed in relief. It was Tal'Dira, a heavy-set, tan-skin cop he'd known for a long time. "Hey, Tal. Can I offer you kaf? I'll have to brew some."

"No, thanks." He walked over in boots that were polished to a shine, and turned his comm down. "I've already had three cups. One more, and there's going to be a trail following my landspeeder. Besides, you know why I'm here."

"Probably not because of my good looks, I'm guessing."

He sighed. "Why is it that trouble seems to follow you? You can't just waste a couple of thugs every time one looks at you crazy."

"Hey, they were going to kill me." He scoffed. "What the hell did you want me to do? Shake their kiffing hands?"

Tal'Dira leaned against the front fender of his landspeeder. "How long have we known each other, Kryss?"

"Five, six years or so, I guess." He hooked his thumbs into his gun belt.

"Ever since you got that box of chocolate for my wife."

"It was the least I could do. You didn't even give me a fine."

He'd met Tal'Dira in Reddon's Cantina, not far from Neela's, when the cop arrested him and tossed him in the drunk tank for an hour for fighting with a loud-mouthed Rodian swearing at Neela. So he punched him right in the mouth. When Tal'Dira didn't give him so much as a fine, Andano brought him a box of rare chocolates from Comkin V he'd acquired in a sabacc game. Their friendship had been sealed.

"What happened? I got a couple of witnesses, but I want to hear from you."

"Look, they came up on me. The green-skinned guy had a blaster in his pocket. The other one snatched my blaster from behind. He didn't think to check the safety." He shrugged. "Greenie shot his pal, and I shot them both."

"The gun is M.I.A., naturally, as is all their money. That's why I had to ask."

"So…that's it?"

"That's it." He stood up. "You leaving soon?"

"Yeah, but we'll tie one off before I go. Drinks are on me."

"As long as you don't find any more Rodians to pummel."

He laughed. "No promises." He held out his hand. "See you around, Tal."

"Be easy, Andano," he said, shaking his hand. "I don't want to be scraping you off the pavement one day." He got in his landspeeder.

"You aren't getting rid of me that easily," he laughed and turned back to the ship. He walked past Bull's Eye, whose head turned to follow him. "What?"

"Didn't say a thing," the droid answered.

He scoffed. That droid was becoming more and more sarcastic and opinionated of late.

Inside, the furnishings were rather sparse but clean. There were a few personal touches here and there, like his aquarium filled with a variety of small, colorful fish from Ando Prime, and his prized water bubbler jukebox from Adarlon that featured a holographic playback system. In front of the engineering station was an expensive rug from Heptalia, featuring exquisite black and gold embroidery—something he'd collected in lieu of payment for some medical supplies.

He climbed the turret well up to the cockpit vestibule, and the door to the cockpit hissed open just as he stepped onto the deck. Standing there was what looked like an SP-4 analysis droid. "Your return is unexpected, sir," it stated.

"Why? You planning on throwing a party while I'm gone?"

"Oh, no, sir!" The droid managed to sound shocked. "I'm not programmed for hosting social events, although I can recommend several models of protocol droids that—"

"I was only joking, T.C." He walked past the flustered droid and into the cockpit. It was like coming home, and the leather bucket seat felt like it was made for him. He patted the arm rests affectionately.

"Alas, I do not comprehend humor," the droid lamented. T.C., short for Tin Can, was actually an FA-4 pilot droid whose programming had been transferred to the heuristic processor and body of an SP-4 analysis droid, also purchased from Bright Eyes. The reason that Andano had specifically asked for such a creation was because he liked FA-4 pilot droids, but needed it to be able to climb up and down the turret well, and FA-4s were normally tracked. SP-4 analysis droids, however, were not. "Shall I begin take-off procedures, sir?"  
"No, I just wanted to get some fresh air and check on you."

"How considerate, sir. I can assure you that everything here is nominal."

"Any messages?"

"Several, sir. One was encrypted and is hands-on."

"So, we'll have to go to the Tasrov Cloud."

The Tasrov Cloud was minor navigational hazard on the way from Arkanis to Sirpar, an asteroid field of little significance. However, it was an excellent hiding place for a small refueling depot he'd built into one of the larger asteroids near the center of the field. It was little more than a large hangar with a series of side chambers, a couple of generators, life support and fuel tanks. In one of the side chambers, however, was an encrypted hypertransceiver tied to a computer bank that people could leave messages when they wanted to get in contact with him.

_Hands-on_, however, meant that he would have to manually decrypt the message, and such messages were usually high-priority. When the hypertransceiver received such a coded message, it was programmed to contact the _Glory Days_ immediately.

"We'll swing over there when we leave and see what's up." He stood up. "Continue to monitor spaceport control." One of the things T.C. excelled at was electronic espionage; it was one of the reasons Andano stayed one step ahead of the Imperials.

"Very good, sir," T.C. said, sitting at the comm station.

It was a little after seven in the morning by the time he made it back to Neela's street, so he stopped at a corner bakery that was just opening and purchased a selection of sweet pastries and two tall fiber cups of steaming hot kaf. The smell of the pastries made his stomach growl.

When he got back to Neela's apartment, he carefully set breakfast on the table in the small kitchenette/dining area, then crept into the bedroom. Neela was still asleep, laying on her back with one arm thrown over her eyes. The sheet was bunched around her waist and one leg was bent at the knee.

"We'll play sabacc later," she murmured softly as he was removing his jacket.

"Sabacc?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"Not now, _paka_."

He repressed a laugh as he realized she was talking in her sleep. Shaking his head, he tossed his jacket and gunbelt on a chair, then kicked off his boots. He climbed into the bed and lay next to her. "Wake up time, Neela," he said, kissing her shoulder.

She stirred and opened one eye. "Kryss? Why are you dressed? What time is it?" she asked muzzily.

He leaned over her, bracing himself with one hand on the other side of her, then kissed the skin at the base of her throat. "I went to get breakfast." He kissed each collar bone.

She laughed sleepily. "Mmm, stop, _paka_," she said, pulling his head up and kissing him lightly on the lips. "Why am I not being served breakfast in bed?"

"Your ladies-in-waiting are all out on strike, so I fired the lot of them, Your Majesty," he teased, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers.

"Very funny." She stretched her arms above her head and wriggled her toes. "Mmm. I need to clean up." She grinned up at him unabashedly. "Enjoying the view?"

He returned the grin. "Indeed, but I need to clean up, too." He got up.

"Good. You smell like a sweaty bantha."

"Hey!" He smacked her on right on her shapely rump when she tried rolling away.

"Ow!" she shouted, grinning. "You are so dead, buster!"

He went to grab a foot and drag her towards him, but she pulled her leg away.

"Go!" she laughed, pulling the sheet over herself. "Get! Go on!" She pushed him away with a small foot. "Go clean up, _paka_!"

The sani-steam felt great and relaxed him, but made him realize just how tired he was. He hadn't been sleeping well with the dreams, and Neela hadn't exactly been helping, he thought with a grin, not that he was complaining.

He also wondered who the coded message was from. He hoped it wasn't Xian, a tall Falleen Vigo in the Black Sun crime syndicate whom he owed money to. She'd had her eye on him for a while and he was going to make a point of paying her of as soon as he could. The alternative was…undesirable, to say the least. He wasn't going to become another trophy in her harem if he could help it.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the refresher. "Much better," he told Neela, who was still in bed.

She stood up in bed, wrapping the sheet around her, then jumped down and walked over to him. "Not bad for an old man," she teased, running her hands over his wet chest and down his arms. She bit her lower lip, and her lekku twitched as a leering grin spread across her face.

"Watch it, you," he shot back, quickly kissing her before she could back away. "Go clean up so we can eat."

"Mmm," she purred, standing on the tips of her toes to kiss him. "We'll eat later." She touched the collar bone she'd bitten; there was a bruise forming around the ring of puncture marks from her teeth. "Very nice. That'll last a good, long while!"

"That's not a good thing, you know."

She smirked. "Not for you!" she laughed. "I want breakfast in bed, _paka_." She winked and darted out of his grasp, letting the sheet drop right before she closed the refresher door, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her modest but attractive curves.

Shaking his head, he dressed and grabbed a pastry and cup of kaf, then headed out onto the balcony outside of Neela's bedroom. The view was fantastic, looking out across the city and the Pit down below. He quickly finished off the pastry, and washed it down with the kaf. He wasn't full by any means, but it had blunted the edge of his hunger.

Leaning against the stone balustrade, he watched the as the city came alive. He enjoyed his time here on Ryloth, where he could at least pretend for a week or three that he was leading a quiet, normal life, even though his life was anything but. He'd only survived this long because of the hard lessons he'd learned, and the most important of those lessons was always keep moving and never stay in one place for too long.

He heard Neela come out of the refresher. She padded out onto the balcony wrapped in the bed sheet which she held closed with one hand. Wet footprints trailed after her on the stone floor as she came over and ducked under one of his arms, nestling herself against the front of him. "The kaf smells good," she said, slipping a hand out and taking the cup from him. She sipped it.

"So do you," he said, nuzzling the back of her neck and breathing in the scent of her damp skin. He wrapped his arms around her and gently squeezed.

"Easy, _paka,_" she murmured, sipping more kaf. "Flattery gets you nowhere."

"There was another cup in the kitchen for you, you know."

"I don't want that one." She sipped the kaf again, gazing up at him out of the corner of her eye with a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I see. You only want what's mine."

She reached up and patted his cheek. "Exactly," she said sweetly, turning to look up at him. "That brings up an excellent point. I'm hungry."

"I was thinking of going on a diet, myself."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not on my watch. Let's go, buster." She ducked under his arm and padded into the bedroom.

"I do need to sleep, you know."

"Sleep when you're dead," she teased, grinning wickedly.

"Neela—"

"_Now, paka,_" she ordered, "or I'll give you a matching mark on your other collarbone!" She stood at the foot of the bed, wating

He sighed. "You know, I came here to relax," he laughed, walking in and setting the kaf on a table.

"Aw, poor _paka_," she taunted, letting the sheet fall and pool at her feet. She wrapped her arms around him and stood on her toes to kiss him.

He grinned. "Well, there's always time to sleep afterwards," he murmured, kissing her and running his fingertips down the lengths of her lekku, making her shiver in delight. This had to be the last day, he knew, but Neela's warm embrace pushed aside all coherent thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Out past the edge of the Trailing Sectors, deep in the Outer Rim, was a vast, pinkish cloud many light years across, full of protostars and noisy pulsars brighter than a hundred suns. Rogue asteroids tumbled about in random fashion, some as large as small moons, and radioactive clouds of dust and ash were everywhere—a remnant from the distant past when a supernova created the nebula in less than a second. Its pinks and reds came from the ionized dust clouds rich in ferrous metals and certain gasses that were plentiful in the nebula.

Riddling the depths of the nebula like a Geonosian hive were labyrinthine "corridors" of clear space that twisted around in countless switchbacks, branches, and dead-ends. It was impossible to scan farther than a few thousand kilometers ahead, and then only if the sensors' gain was cranked way up due to the electrostatic volatility of the nebula itself. This instability manifested in titanic electrical discharges whose purplish bolts of lightning were as big around as a frigate, especially if a ship were to pass too close to the edges of the pinkish clouds. Some Corridors narrowed dangerously, making such a discharge almost a certainty. Other corridors led to areas of intense electrical storms stirred up by the solar flares of nearby protostars.

Traveling through these corridors was referred to as _running the reefs_, and after a few days of such travel, one corridor would begin to look very much like another, making it very easy to get lost inside and never find a way out. Countless hulks of lifeless ships littered these _reefs_ from pilots foolhardy enough to even make it to the Vega Nebula, a trip which usually resulted in burned-out hyperdrives.

One route, however, led to more than just a dead-end or yet another branching intersection. Thirty or so light-minutes in from the outer edge of the nebula, which meant a journey of almost a week at sub-light speeds that would be considered reckless, lay a vast asteroid field called the Protean Drift. Roughly spherical in shape, and several million kilometers thick, it was a rarity in that it was packed thick with asteroids to the point where travel through the field was extremely hazardous. This was due to the fact that it was slowly orbiting a white dwarf that lay at its center in a "bubble" of clear space referred to as the _Hollows_; the star's gravity well was slowly but inexorably pulling the asteroids in, and in a few million years might form a planetoid.

Shielded by the asteroid field, very little of the pinkish light of the nebula, or its electrostatic interference, made it through to the Hollows, allowing sensors to function normally. This was rather important because the Hollows were the size of a very small solar system, and Gyros, the white dwarf at its center, was very dim.

The darkness, however, made the glitter of the many thousands of ships scattered throughout the Hollows that much more apparent. Ore haulers, transports, and heavily armed corvettes and light cruisers made up the bulk of the traffic within the Hollows, many of them old and normally found only in starship junkyards and museums. Also present, though, were Old Republic-era cruisers, dreadnoughts, and other archaic (and sometimes ancient) warships that had long ago passed into obsolescence; some of the ships hadn't been seen plying the space lanes in centuries.

The Hollows teemed with activity as the ore haulers and transports came and went from the zero-gee refineries and manufactories stationed on the edge of asteroid field. Many of these operations were built right into the asteroids, and the largest of them spanned a dozen or more, tying them together with durasteel struts and girders. The metal-rich asteroids were being systematically mined, their ore turned into useful commodities such as starship parts, electronics, and droids. Not only that, many of the asteroids had been turned into weapons platforms as well, scanning all passing ships for the correct IFF codes. The massive construction project going on also included adding more of these weapons platforms and converting more asteroids into refineries and manufactories, so ships were constantly moving about within the Protean Drift as well.

The only way into the Hollows without risking being smashed by an asteroid wa through what was colloquially known by the inhabitants as the _Corridor_. This was a path between two large asteroids, one stationed just inside the asteroid field, and one stationed just outside; they continuously scanned a safe route through the field between them so ships could safely come and go. They also served as a checkpoint for ships arriving and departing from the Hollows.

Having just passed through the Corridor, an old, heavily-modified _Venator _-class Star Destroyer passed by the inner asteroid scanning platform and sailed serenely on towards Gyros the star. It was rather odd in appearance, with many knobby hull patches all over its surface and the bridge pods atop the aft twin conning towers joined into a large chevron-like superstructure that pointed forward. Emblazoned on the upper sides of its hull was a strange, segmented blue-and-white triangle on a white circle emblem.

Home at last, Talus thought to himself as he stood on the darkened bridge of the _Ion Tide_; it was the last time he would command the _Venator_ as his flagship. He folded his hands behind his back and continued his vigil out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran from one side of the bridge to the other. He wore the sky blue uniform of the defunct Alderaanian navy, and his rank insignia showed him to be a Fleet Admiral, the equivalent of a Grand Moff in the Empire.

He looked to be in his early thirties, but the dark blue eyes that looked out from his angular, slightly gaunt face were far older. They weren't cruel eyes, but they weren't kind ones, either; instead, they held the light of hard-earned wisdom. Yet, there wasn't a trace of gray in his short, dark brown hair or in his neatly groomed and closely-trimmed beard and mustache.

"ETA to the Nexus is ten minutes," a Nautolan navigator announced.

"Keep us straight and level, lieutenant," he replied. Creshwon was a fine navigator who would be coming with when he assumed command of his new flagship, waiting up ahead for him.

"Aye, sir. Maintaining course heading and attitude."

"Nexus reports that all is ready, sir," Sami said. A tracked droid with a treaded, wedge-shaped base, a spindly body with long, skinny arms, and a rectangular, box-shaped head, he held the rank of Lieutenant Commander and was the ship's Chief Communications officer. He, too, would e coming aboard the new flagship. "She is standing by if you wish to communicate."

He frowned, an affectation he'd learned long ago. She always wanted to communicate with him, but it was more than that, wasn't it? "Tell her that I will speak with her when I get the chance. Transmit out flight data and ETA."

The new flagship was docked at the Nexus, the heart of their operations built into a massive asteroid 4.3 kilometers wide that closely orbited Gyros. The ship had taken two years to rebuild and had cost more money than the GNP of a third-world planet, but was more powerful than an _Imperial II_-class Star Destroyer.

Moda stepped up next to him. She wore the form of a buxom, red-skinned Twi'lek with vibrant blue eyes that matched her uniform, when she actually remembered to wear it. Today, at least, she had. Her rank plack showed her to be a Lieutenant Commander as well, and she was the ship's Chief Engineer as well as the creative force behind the rebuilding and re-engineering of the new flagship.

"Good morning, Moda," he said, glancing at her. He was glad to see that she had dressed fully; sometimes she left buttons undone on her uniform, or had them buttoned wrong.

She tugged at the front of her uniform as she looked down and glared. "I think the laundry droids are shrinking my uniforms again," she grumbled.

The uniform did seem to strain against her ample chest, though she was by no means buxom. "You still have to wear it," he said, knowing what she was after. "All of it."

She scowled. So much for the human phrase, rank hath privilege," she muttered darkly. She grabbed her breasts in both hands and glared at him. "If I didn't have _these_ in such plentitude," she said snappishly, shaking them, "it wouldn't be an issue!" Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "I'd also be able to do my job a lot easier because I wouldn't have to squeeze through ductwork."

He chuckled and patted her affectionately on the shoulder. "All these years, and you're only now complaining about your form? Tsk, tsk, tsk."

She glanced behind them, making sure no one was around, then leaned imperceptibly closer and whispered, "Get pulsed." She maintained her scowl for a moment, then a smile touched her lips. "Sir."

He shook his head. "I chose the form nearest at hand," he mused. "Time was of the essence, and I had to act fast to prevent you from suffering cognitive damage."

"I know," she sighed. "Granted, this form has grown me on, but—"

He winced at her misspoken phrase. "Your form has grown _on_ you, Moda, not grown you on."

"Whatever," she scoffed. You know what I mean."

"And you have grown into that form as well," he said, grinning.

She shot him a suspicious stare. "Was that sarcasm?"

"Not at all."

"Hmph." She crossed her arms and returned her stare to the bow of the ship. "So, have you decided upon a name for our ship, yet?"

"_Our_ ship?" He glanced at her, smiling at her use of the possessive plural.

She grinned back defiantly. "That's right. Our ship. I helped design it, therefore, I have a stake in it."

"I'm not sure that's how it works."

"It is, now."

"I see," he chuckled. "Well, I was thinking of naming _our_ ship _Bright Defender_."

"Huh."

"You don't approve?"

"I would've thought you would have named it something more aggressive."

"I won't emulate the Empire, if that is your meaning."

She shrugged, though it was slow and awkward; she still hadn't managed to make the motion look natural. "The ship will crush anything they have."

"Not quite. Those Imperial dreadnoughts are bigger than a Star Destroyer, and the _Praetors_ are bigger still."

"Regardless," she said.

"We're trying to avoid confrontation, remember?"

"I suppose," she scoffed. "The _Ion Tide_ will remain here?"

"Yes. It's being assigned as the flagship for the Ion Defense Fleet." He looked at her. "Something on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"No." Her lekku twitched nervously. It was too natural a motion for her to have done it consciously.

She's learning to lie, he thought in amusement. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, refusing to look at him. "So, who is going to be the Captain of the _Ion Tide_?"

"Angling for a new posting?"

She flinched and her eyes widened as she stared at him. "No!" she yelped, touching his arm briefly, then jerking it back as though she'd been burned. She quickly looked around the bridge as if to make sure no one had seen her, and by the scowl on her face, it was a good thing no one had. "I mean, no, sir," she said more quietly. "I just, er, I want to, um," she stammered, her lekku twitching furiously.

He touched her shoulder briefly. "Relax, Moda," he said quietly. "Where I go, you will go, too."

She gripped the railing in front of the window as the tension drained out of her. "Thank you, Talus," she whispered.

He smiled. "Did you really think I would leave you behind?" he asked. "You should know me better than that by now. As for who I'll appoint as Captain, I was calculating the variables and Beshten seems to be at the top of the list."

"The Kel Dor?"

"That's him. I think he's memorized the entire _Encyclopedia Galactica_ of historical military knowledge and tactics. He'll be the most successful at the posting." He was rather fond of Beshten. As CIC, or Commander-In-Chief, of the Vega Nebula, Beshten would be enormously useful in protecting the Nexus. "I'll be taking Sami and Creshwon, too."

"Good. At least there'll be some familiar faces."

Poor Moda, he thought. After he'd rescued her from a Devaronian pirate named Kith K'bar, she'd latched onto him and had followed him everywhere, refusing to allow him out of her sight. She'd been traumatized by the pirate for years, and at first said nothing to anyone, not even him. She'd just stare around wide-eyed with fright, and if he looked like he was going somewhere, she'd be right by his side. It had taken years for her to recover and start having actual conversations like this one, or allowing him out of her sight for more than thirty seconds at a time. She still had social adjustment issues—her chafing at being made to wear a uniform was just one such symptom. Another was her impatience and acerbic personality, though she never behaved that way towards him.

"Are you ready to test out the new flagship?" he asked.

"I can't wait to see how the AEDS works."

She was referring to an experimental technology called the AEDS, or Active Energy Dissipation Shroud, that had been engineered into the new flagship. Built around the engines and reactor core of the ship, the shrouds were made of an exotic ceramic impregnated with quartz crystal that was attuned to resonate with the exact inverse frequency of the energy fields thrown off by the ship. In theory, this meant that they would cancel out the engine "noise" that was normally detected by sensors, rendering the ship "invisible" to all but those capable of measuring fluctuations in gravity as the huge mass of a ship passed by.

The trade-off, however, was that all other external sources of energy noise had to be shut down—weapons, active sensors, running lights, and all shields, including particle shields that protected the ship from high-velocity micrometeoroids and dust. However, when the AEDS went active, thick, durasteel shutters would slide over all windows, airlocks, and other vital areas to protect them. Shield projectors would retract into the hull on pneumatic lifts so they wouldn't be damaged by stray dust—another unique feature necessitated by the AEDS system—and they would be essentially be flying blind. Well, myopic at least. Passive sensors would still function, but their range was extremely limited.

This new technology was the direct result of the need to sneak past Imperial monitoring beacons scattered along all the major hyperspace lanes. As long as they stayed out of visual range, they would be able to move freely about the galaxy as gravitometric sensor arrays were as rare as they were expensive.

"The AEDS will work just fine," he reassured her. "You certainly tested it enough."

"I take pride in being vindicated after years of arguing against nothing-know clankers."

"You mean _know-nothing_ clankers. Such foul language," he mused, drawing a sidelong glance. "I remember a time when you wouldn't have had the courage to put forth such a radical idea."

Her eyebrows drew down in a frown. "Bad times," she said softly, her body growing rigid.

"Relax, Moda," he said, putting a hand gently on her back. "You've come a long way, Moda. The AEDS is your experiment, which is reason enough why you'll be on the _Bright Defender_ with me."

"Here, I thought it was my good looks."

His eyes widened in surprise as he laughed. "Was that _humor_, Moda? Very clever!"

She smiled faintly at the praise, and together, they both watched as the new flagship went from a distant white speck in geostationary orbit around Nexus to a breathtaking view of all its glory. The _Bright Defender_ was an extensively modified _Munificent_-class frigate, far more heavily armed and armored than anything seen during the Clone Wars. It's oversized engines stuck out like a sore thumb, but gave it a thrust-to-mass ratio nearly twice that of an _Imperial II_-class Star Destroyer, and her regenerative shields were more powerful than anything in the Imperial fleet.

The _Bright Defender_ also had something no _Munificent_-class ever had: most of the cargo space underneath its forward, "turtle shell" hull had been converted to hold starfighters and auxiliary ships. 108 SX-1A Sabrefighters, 72 _Vulture_-class droid starfighters, a GS-100 salvage ship called _Positron_, and Talus' own personal transport, a _Dynamic_-class freighter named _Midnight Rider_.

Its starfigher complement, combined with the ship's powerful jamming array meant that any Imperial TIE fighters that tried to swarm would be easy pickings for its point-defense weapons while the Sabrefighters and _Vulture_-class droid starfighters would pound the Imperials would be pinned in place by powerful tractor beams. When it was time to slip away, their cutting edge navicomputer would ensure speed and accuracy.

Nothing would escape from the _Bright Defender_ to alert the Imperials to their existence. It was the best well-kept secret in the galaxy, and would stay that way. Only one person had ever escaped, and soon, she, too, would fall into their hands.

Moda must have been thinking along similar lines. "Do you think we'll be able to catch her in that?" she asked, nodding towards the _Bright Defender_.

"Once we find her, you mean? Oh, yes. Time is on our side," he assured her. "All we have to do is be patient. Our spies are everywhere."

She grinned. "I can't wait to get my hands on that little—"

"We need her _alive_, Moda."

"But surely we need to interrogate her to find out if she's told anyone what she saw? You think she's just going to volunteer that information?"

"The only person she might have told is dead," he explained patiently. "She's a slave—who is going to believe her?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

He turned to face her. "Yes, she will tell us everything. There is no need to physically or chemically compel her when we have a far more valuable tool to make her talk."

Her grin was back. "The girl."

"Exactly."

"We'll be taking along her stasis pod, then?" She rubbed her hands together in anticipation, but like her other gestures, it was slow and not quite natural.

"Precisely. I'll leave her in your care, but," he said, holding up a finger, "no damaging her. Leave her in the stasis pod until we can utilize her."

"An honor, sir," the Kel Dor named Beshten said, bowing.

"Logic, Captain. You're the best man for the job," Talus said, in a little while after talking to Moda. "Although I am poaching most of the crew."

"I prefer to select my own, anyhow, sir."

"Most captains do," he agreed.

"May probability favor you, sir. Oh, there was this for you." He handed Talus a code cylinder that had a red ring around its end, indicating that it was high-priority.

"Thank you, Captain," he said, accepting the communique, "and good luck to you as well." He turned and walked to the turbolifts at the back of the bridge, Moda stuck to his side like glue. "I wonder what this is about?" He pressed the call button.

"Probably more of your fugitive Jedi," was Moda's response.

"Doubtful." The turbolift door opened and they got in. He pressed the button that would take them to the flight deck, and the door closed. He'd been hunting and tracking Jedi and other Force users ever since the end of the Clone Wars, not to turn over to the Empire but to have potential allies against the Imperial war machine and to learn more about the mysterious Force. "This is coded as high-priority, and the Nexus wouldn't use that designation if it was Jedi."

"The Empire has been a little too successful tracking them down." She shook her head. "It's been fifteen years since the Clone Wars ended, and there can't be many of them left."

"There's a few that the Inquisitorius hasn't found yet, and it's not just them. There's also the Bounty Hunter's guild, and countless do-gooders brainwashed by Imperial propaganda. Alderaan is a hold out, thank the Maker." He would be very disappointed if his homeworld bought into Palpatine's lies.

"There's also Vader."

"A mysterious figure indeed. He just appeared out of nowhere, it seems. Who is he? I wonder." He shook his head. "If there was only a way we could experience the Force ourselves. Vivisection on test subjects is distasteful, and can only teach you so much."

"Why not apprehend a few and bring them in for questioning?"

He laughed. "You don't just bring in a few Jedi, not like that. Besides, how dangerous they can be, what if they were spotted and being tracked by the Empire? Or even worse, what if they're secretly working for the Empire?" A Jedi who didn't want to be caught or brought in could potentially cause far too much damage, and besides, he wanted them alive. "It's too risky to reveal ourselves at this time. When the time is right, we want them to come to us."

"What about that one Jedi you were tracking, Kyros Sandan?"

"He's in the Outer Rim, only a few hundred light years from here." A human, Sandan was very good at hiding, and had a natural flair for passing himself off as anything but a Jedi. There was an image of him in the archives wielding an ultraviolet lightsaber—unique among the Jedi from what little Talus was able to glean. Sandan was probably their best option for first-contact, but they had to be very careful. The situation would have to be controlled; if Sandan refused to become an ally, he would have to be neutralized to prevent the secret of their existence from getting out. They already had one leak; they didn't need another.

The turbolift door opened, revealing a long flight deck with hangar bays lining its sides. Crewmen were already beginning to board shuttles that would transfer them to the _Bright Defender_, while other shuttles were being disembarked by Beshten's crew. Talus, however, walked to his private hangar where _Midnight Rider_ sat.

A hobby ship, Talus had owned the _Midnight Rider_ for many years, and had added numerous modifications during that time. Flat black with electric blue trim, it was rough-and-tumble looking on the outside, but inside it was richly luxurious, with plush carpeting, exotic wood paneling, and nerf leather upholstery. There were numerous oil paintings, a large aquarium, and a bookshelf with actual books, as well as a large holoprojector tied to the ship's hypertransceiver and several potted plants.

"Ugly as a rancor's rear-end," was Moda's assessment.

He laughed. "Trying out new insults?"

She grinned. "Not bad, right?"

The trip to the _Bright Defender_ was a short one. On the flight deck of his new flagship, there was a large yellow circle with _Midnight Rider_ written across it in the small, triangular symbols of Metroglyphic, the language of their organization.

Stretching out high above them was the underside of the "turtle-shell" hull, lit with yellowish-white spot lights. Clinging there like so many hawkbats roosting were the starfighters; the inner surface of the hull had been re-engineered with special docking-clamps that held the starfighters in place, and there were accessed via caged ladders and catwalks that ran in parallel rows between the fighters.

Next to the berth area for the _Midnight Rider_ and _Positron_ were two more empty circles where shuttles or other transports could land to off-load cargo or personnel. The _Positron_ was meant to salvage and retrieve any ships disabled by the _Bright Defender's_ ion cannons, and it would bring them in to land in the empty circles so they could be boarded.

Two red-lacquered B1 battle droids with golden trim waited outside the _Midnight Rider's _circle for them. They were armed with heavy blaster rifles and were more robust-looking than their Clone Wars counterparts. One stepped forward as soon as Talus and Moda came down the boarding ramp. "We've been assigned as your personal guard, sir," it said, saluting.

"By whom?" Talus asked.

"By the Nexus, sir."

"I should have guessed. How many are there of you aboard?"

"A platoon, sir."

Fifty six elite Ion Troopers he'd have to find room for later when they picked up their full complement of battle droids in the Aos system. "Come along,then," he said, heading into the ship through the large blast doors at the far end of the flight deck, towards the center of the ship. "I'll expect a squad of you to guard the Lieutenant Commander here as well."

"As you wish, sir. Four more are posted on the bridge, with the remainder guarding vital areas of the ship. My designation is B1-6A, and my counterpart is B1-32C."

"Chatty little thing, isn't he?" Moda muttered under her breath.

They proceeded through the corridors, which were busy as the crew made final preparations to get underway. There were still crates of supplies piled in corners and along the bulkheads, and numerous astromechs rolled around, tweaking minor systems and doing last-minute adjustments. Along the bulkheads at shoulder height were more Metroglyphic inscriptions, strangely possessed of a certain aesthetic beauty, though they only gave directions to various locations within the ship and identified different areas.

Though she still had a hard time imitating many emotions, Talus knew how proud she was of this ship. That was one of the few emotions that came through strongly for her. As they boarded a turbolift and headed up to the superstructure on top of the ship where the bridge and officer quarters were located, she tried on a grin as she noticed him looking at her, and almost pulled it off in terms of appearing natural.

"Let's go check out our quarters and see what this message is before we get underway," Talus suggested. "And you can quit attempting to grin smugly. You did a fine job on this vessel, but gloating is frowned up in civilized circles."

The bridge was just below the level containing the officer quarters on the top floor of the superstructure. The two levels were separated by a balcony-like deck that protruded out two meters, as did the "roof," making the outer bulkheads look recessed. Unlike on a normal _Munificent_-class frigate, this "balcony" was enclosed by a wall of transparisteel, offering an incredible vista that was accessible only from the commanding officers' quarters.

Moda's quarters were next to his, naturally, with a connecting door between the two suites. They were exceptionally large, with a four meters square sitting room, connecting sleeping quarters, and a refresher unit. The sitting room's bulkhead opposite of the entrance to the suite was a wall-to-wall bank of windows looking out onto the balcony, accessible by a thin-frame airlock door.

The sleeping quarters were truly unnecessary for them, as they never slept, but if they were to blend in properly, they must at least give the illusion of being normal. Still, everything was orderly in their quarters, down to every last fold of the bed's covers and the placement of collected miscellania such as books and statuettes.

Most of Talus's things were still in a cargo bay down in the belly of the ship, so the quarters contained only generic props. Once he got settled in, though, he would replace the props with his own possessions. What really intrigued him was the view offered by the balcony, which is where he wound up.

"Have you examined the code cylinder?" Moda asked eagerly.

"This is eyes-only." He held up the code cylinder.

"Yes. I plan on using my eyes to see it."

"I'm not sure that's how it works." He pulled out his datapad and inserted the code cylinder.

Data scrolled across the screen, along with an image of a young, blue-skinned Twi'lek woman that had been taken with a telephoto lens.

**NOVA ALERT—PRIORITY RED**

CODED TRANSMISSION FOR FLEET ADMITAL OF IDF—EYES ONLY

**NONFORN—**NOT FOR GENERAL CIRCULATION; SEQ13149827

INTELLIGENCE REPORT FROM FIELD OPERATIVE 10011110110011 TO **NEXUS**

**ARCHIVE NO.** A1017543

RETRANSMITTED PER SPEC-OP PROTOCOL 31C FROM **NEXUS** TO **SOLAR CHARIOT**

**STATUS:** PENDING

ADM/71

**INTELLIGENCE REPORT FOLLOWS:**

Target Aurek AKA Mik'aventura AKA Mika Ventura; **Age** 21; **Height** 164.2 cm; **Weight** 57 kg; **Eyes** D. Brown; **Species **Twi'lek; **Sub **Rutian (Blue); **Description** Suspected Force-user last seen on Lianna in Allied Tion Sector in Outer Rim, accompanied by known human Force user, Cal Shara, former Jedi and member of Jensaari tradition;

Target has been spotted on Denon REPEAT Denon, located at confluence of the Hydian Way and Corellian run, in lower levels of district known as the Gnaw, at Blue Nebula Cantina. Sighting is confirmed REPEAT confirmed. Use extreme caution—Blue Nebula Cantina is known front for Black Sun. Apprehend alive REPEAT alive—approach with extreme caution: Target is suspected Force user. Non-lethal containment is paramount above all.

END REPORT

He laughed. "Oh, we got you, now, Miss Ventura," he said, handing the datapad to Moda. "We have another asset on Denon we can activate who works in the Blue Nebula. Good thing I took an interest in Black Sun."

Moda shared his grin, and for once, it was entirely natural, but gave her a sinister look. "Now, all we have to do is pick up the Togruta girl on Aos-5 and get to Denon."

He activated his comlink. "Commander Enthate," he said, addressing the Senior Commander and First Officer, a dark skinned human with a shaved head and round, pleasant face. "How long until we are ready to depart?"

Three hours, twenty-two minutes, sir," came the response.

"As soon as we are ready, we are to proceed with all haste to the Aos system."

"Aye, sir."

He shut off the comlink. "Just enough time for you to give me a tour," he told Moda.

"My pleasure, Admiral," she said, her grin softening into a warm smile. She was getting better at it.

Taking her arm, he smiled. With the Ventura woman's capture, the Ion Ascendancy would be safe from discovery once more.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

She glanced at the cheap white chrono strapped to her wrist and sighed. It was ten to four; she had two more hours until her shift was finally over. Then, she could soak in the santi-steam and relax. She would put on her new cream-colored synthsilk pajamas she'd bought yesterday, and curl up on her bunk to watch some trashy holonovels on her datapad. It was a Friday, so there was probably a movie on, too. She'd shut the other women in the room out for a little while and pretend she was by herself. Maybe she'd even dream about Kai again.

Mika sighed again as she collected empty mugs on her tray. She wanted to practice _heji tal_, a form of quiet meditation once used by the Jedi, but she didn't want to do it where she might be seen by the other women. Simple meditation wasn't illegal, but she didn't want to arouse any suspicion because that might lead to questions that she wouldn't dare answer.

Ahsa, the other freen-skinned Twi'lek slave, was behind the bar, dressed in a black fish-net outfit that was far more revealing than Mika's white one-piece. She collected the empty mugs and set them under the bar, then began filling four more with foamy golden beer from the tap. "These go to table six," she said, setting them on Mika's tray. She flicked her lekku in a subtle pattern that said, _Are you okay?_

She darted a quick glance at Asha, caught off-guard by the girl's concern. "I, uh, I'm just tired," she said quietly, looking away. She carefully picked up the tray and hurried off, feeling Asha's stare following her.

She'd already had a hard enough time dealing with the other women here, who she knew looked at her as if she were some dangerous animal. It had been a week since she'd taken out that sleemo bothering Danya, making a huge scene and a complete fool of herself in front of everyone, and in that time, her feeling that the others were silently laughing at her had only grown. She'd given those catty _schuttas_ all the ammunition they'd needed and then some, especially Isara—oh, how she wanted to strangle her sometimes. The humiliation stung, and now, she was finding it hard to even look other people in the eye. She hated being so self-conscious, but she didn't know how not to be.

It was even worse, now, with Danya—she couldn't even look at the Togruta, let alone look her in the eye. Mika had avoided her all week, and had little to say to her or anyone else. What could she say? Uh, sorry I saved you from that sleemo because I thought you were my sister? Ridiculous. It was just too embarrassing to bring herself to look at the woman, and every time she thought about trying to talk to her, her stomach would knot and she'd freeze up. Just thinking about it now made her face heat.

She was so tired, and felt like she was drowning sometimes. She'd lost her appetite and had to force herself to eat, when she remembered to. She just wished it would be over, one way or another; she hated the feeling of quiet doom hanging over her head, the helpless feeling of being able to do nothing to save herself, or her sister. She couldn't trust anyone, not even Beriska, with the full truth of it, but she had no choice.

Such dark thoughts continued to circle in her mind as the Friday crowds began to trickle in. There were still a few tables and booths open yet, though that would change when the night shift came in. The music would be loud, the t'bac smoke would be thick, and there would be drunk sleemos everywhere. Worse, Isara and her little coterie would be strutting around with their chests bare to give the patrons something to look at with their drinks, acting like they owned the place; to them, it was a game to see just how much their assets could earn them, and how far they could twist the men around their fingers. Their shameless behavior was disgusting.

At the moment, it wasn't too bad. The patrons didn't really seem to be paying attention to her or the other women circulating around the cantina, handing out drinks and food. A few were watching the smashball games and swoop bike races on the viewscreens above the bar, but the jukebox was off and it was still pretty quiet. That was the way she preferred it—no one pawing at her.

Table six was the last table on the end, right next to an open area that was occasionally used as a dance floor. Farther on were several billiards tables, and to one side was a dartboard and a pair of pinball machines. Sitting at the table were two humans—one male with short blond hair and a scar across the bridge of his nose, and the other a female with long, flame-red hair pulled back in a pony tail—a grizzled, gray-brown Wookiee, and a Rodian. All of them wore scowls and looked disreputable to Mika, something not uncommon in the Blue Nebula. Nor were the blasters they all wore.

"You wanted the beer, right?" Mika asked, setting the mugs out.

"Keep 'em coming," the woman said, tossing a wad of flimsiplast credit-notes on the tray.

Her eyes momentarily widened—there was probably fifty credits there. "Sure thing," she said, straightening the notes. She went back to the bar and handed the money to Asha. "Table six's tab," she explained.

"Some of this might be yours," Asha said in surprise. "Don't you want to hold onto it?"

"They won't tip." She reached over the bar and grabbed her gizer ale, took a sip, then set it back down. "Besides, where would I put it?" she asked, hooking her thumbs under the sides of her one piece and tugging gently. "You got the next order?"

Pursing her lips, she poured the drinks. "You sure you're okay?"

_I'm fine!_ she said, snapping her lekku in annoyance. She wondered what it mattered to Asha; the girl was probably fishing for gossip. They all were—why else would they be asking if she was all right all the time?

As she finished out her shift, she continued to curse herself for being so stupid. How could she have ever thought that Danya was Kai? Her chest ached and her eyes grew moist, but she fought back the tears. I will not cry, damn it! Kai's image persisted, though, her little sister who would take in every stray animal they crossed paths with in the depths of the steam tunnels of Nar Shadda. How many scurriers had she nursed back to health? She smile faintly at the memory of the time she'd come back to find Kai applying a splint to the tail of one of the little rodents who was covered with scars. Kai had smiled up at her sheepishly, then finished the splint.

The only resemblance between Danya and Kai lay in the fact that they were both Togruta. Where Danya was tall and buxom, with long, elegant montrals—the blue and white striped horns and head tails that all Togruta had—Kai was short and waif-like, with small, undeveloped montrals that barely hung past her shoulders. Mika had been able to count her ribs, she'd been so thin, and had made a special effort to make sure she fed first and most.

They'd grown up together, and though Kai was two years younger than her, she'd been wise beyond her years. When she'd first been kidnapped by Trandoshan slavers, it had been Kai who'd cared for her and forced her to eat. It had been Kai who'd held her hand and told her stories about her home on Shili to comfort her. After they had escaped Nerah for the last time, it had been Kai who'd cut the palms of their left hands and the tops of their left breasts to perform the _kolo tandar,_ the hand-to-heart Togruta blood oath; together, hands over each other's hearts, they'd solemnly swore the words that made them sisters, thought they'd already loved each other as if they were blood.

A tear spilled from her eye, and she quickly wiped it away, ignoring the looks from the patrons. Kai! she screamed in her head, her face passive and not revealing a trace of the despair she felt at the idea of never being able to find her again. The Force would guide her, she tried to remind herself, but so far, it had failed to do so.

Her shift finally ended. She practically fled the bar, struggling to keep from breaking down as black waves of despair washed over her. She climbed the stairs up to the apartment above and passed through the great room, where several off-duty slaves lounged, reading the latest holozines or talking quietly. The holoprojector in the center of the room was currently displaying an episode of _Galactic Geographic_ about the life cycle of mynocks. No surprise that her bunkmate Anis'taala was watching—the girl was a bit of a science geek, and loved reading and watching stuff like that.

Danya was in the far corner at a table under a window, reading something on her datapad. She looked up and smiled tentatively at her.

Mika, however, saw none of that; she was focused on keeping it together long enough to make it to her bunk, where she could bury her face in her pillow and hide. She didn't need to humiliate herself any further. She quickly went past the billiards table and around the corner to the left, past the door to Beriska's quarters, and through the door straight ahead into the dorm.

The dorm was mercifully empty, though she could hear Isara and her coterie gossiping in the refresher. She collapsed on her bunk and hid her face in the soft folds of her pillow, muffling her sobs. She missed her sister so badly, and had failed her when she needed her the most. How could Kai have thought she was worthy of the _kolo tandar_? The blackness welled up in her, swallowing her and crushing the breath from her. The galaxy was unfathomably vast—how could she hope to succeed in finding her sister?

The minutes felt like hours as she wept, and intruding on her despair was Isara's shrill laughter, which kindled Mika's anger.

"She's been quiet all week," the human woman was saying. "Ever since her little outburst. She's a bigger drama queen than you, Mela."

The other women tittered.

Mela Fi was a petite human woman with short dark hair cut in a vampish bob, porcelain skin, and pale blue eyes. "Did you see how she'd been carrying on?"

Vema's voice came next. "How does she manage to be Beriska's favorite?" Vema was a tall, slender Zabrak with long dark hair and reddish skin.

"Doesn't matter," Isara said. "She's up to something, and I'm going to find out what."

"How?" Lea Lyn asked. She was a short, buxom Zelosian with a curvaceous figure and black hair that had hints of green in it.

"I don't know, yet, but—" She stopped, eyes widening for a brief moment as she looked over and saw Mika standing in the door to the refresher, arms crossed and looking murderous.

Mika took the scene in. All four women stood in front of the mirror, their make-up kits spread across the counter as they applied it. First was Mela, then Isara, Vema and Lea. Mela and Vema wore hot-pink high-cut shorts that looked painted on, high heels, and lacey bras, while Isara wore high-heel boots, skin-tight pants with a snake skin print pattern, and a lacy, sheer black bra, which left the dragon tattoo on her back on full display. Lea wore a black miniskirt with platforms and a white silk bra, as well as a solid aurodium bracelet.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," she growled, wiping a tear away. Her stomach was knotted and she felt jittery with how badly she wanted to hurt Isara.

A Balosar slave stepped out of the sani-steam with a towel wrapped around her. No older than twenty, she had short, light brown hair and pretty green eyes. Her antennae palps twitched nervously, and she quickly fled the refresher.

Isara turned back to applying her make-up. "Um, as I was saying, I'm going to find out what the blue bantha over there is up to."

"Um, Izzie?" Mela said, backing away as Mika, head lowered, stalked up to Isara.

She turned. "Um, you're in my personal space, you—"

Lightning fast, Mika lashed out, her right hand wrapping around the girl's throat. She pushed the woman back, bending her backwards over the counter and scattering make-up kits everywhere as Isara gurgled and clutched at Mika's hand, eyes bulging in terror.

"Ahk! Helk! Urk!" she rasped, her eyes bulging in fear.

"Let her go!" Vema whined, though no one dare lay a hand on Mika.

Mela fled.

"So much for your friends!" Mika hissed, cocking back her fist to smash Isara. Her anger grew even hotter when she realized that she was crying again.

"Mika, don't!" Danya shouted from the door. "Please, Mika!"

Startled, she glanced at the Togruta, then glared back at Isara, raising her fist again. She wanted to smash the _schutta_'_s_ nose flat so badly. Her fist trembled.

"Mika, listen to _me_," she said.

She hesitated, tears falling from her eyes.

"Do it!" Isara gasped. "Hit me!"

"Shut up, Isara!" Danya shouted, stalking over, "or I'll strangle you myself!" She stopped a few feet from Mika. "Don't hit her, Mika. Don't give her what she wants."

Trembling all over with the effort, she lowered her fist and leaned in close, until her face was centimeters from Isara's. "You're a mean, small person, Isara," she hissed. "Stay away from me." She released her and walked towards the door. "I didn't hit her," she whispered as she walked past Danya, talking more to herself than the Togruta.

Isara, coughing and gasping for air and clutching at her throat, rasped, "She _did_ hit me! Before you got here!" She pointed at Vema and Lea. "Ask them!"

The remaining two members of the coterie looked at each dubiously.

"You're a kiffing liar, Isara," Danya snapped, surprising Mika. "If Mika would have hit you, you would be picking your teeth up off the floor."

Touched by Danya's defense of her, Mika left quickly before more tears could come. Why had Danya defended her? It stirred feelings of guilt in her for being mean to the Togruta before. Still trembling as the wave of black despair washed over her, she raced downstairs, trying to stifle her sobs as she ducked past Beriska's office door, which was open. Mela was inside.

"She did _what?_" Beriska roared. "Mika! Get your rump in here!"

Ignoring her, she grabbed a steak knife off the cart by the entrance to the kitchens and fled into the employee's refresher, locking the door behind her. She went to the last stall and locked herself in, sobbing at last as she sat on the closed lid of the commode and wept. She hunched forward, clutching the knife like a lifeline.

Beriska banged on the refresher door. "You open this door, now! You hear me, Mika?" She pounded a fist on the door. "Don't think I won't break this door down!"

Mika, though, rocked back and forth, unable to control the surge of emotions within. That stupid Isara! she fumed. How dare she! She pounded her fist on her thigh. If that empty-headed human had been the one attacked by Mol Terrin, the infamous Zabrak pirate, she'd not be so quick to judge! When Mika had defended Danya, she would've sworn it had been Mol Terrin attacking Kai. She'd been so sure that it had been the sadistic sleemo—

"No," she moaned in anguish, not wanting to remember, but the memories were like the waters from a dam that burst. She could still smell his foul body odor, and could still feel his hot, stinking breath on the back of her neck as he'd held her by her lekku, squeezing unmercifully and pulling her into the shadows at Nerah's court while laughing.

Her teeth clenched in rage, a scream escaped her as she put the knife to the inside of her left forearm and drew it across the skin in a swift motion. It cut deep, and blood welled up immediately, running down her arm in red rivulets. It splashed onto the floor in splotches that resembled crimson novas.

It hadn't mattered that he'd died at the hands of the Gamorrean guards looting the palace after Nerah disappeared; his ghost still haunted her. She gazed up at the water-stained acoustic tile ceiling yellowed with age as her vision blurred from hot tears that streaked down her face in hot lines. The memories and pain washed over her anew, after she'd so carefully shut them away.

Clenching her jaw, she put the blade of the knife to her wrist, but stopped. Do it! she raged at herself. Her hand trembled, but she couldn't bring herself to draw the blade in a fatal slash. Her muscles seemed locked as fear washed over her. Wailing in anger, she threw the blade away, sending it skittering across the floor and under the door, then covered her face with her hand and sobbed. She was a coward, too frightened to open her arteries.

"Open this door," Beriska yelled, pounding on the door.

"Beriska, let me talk to her, please," Danya's voice said. "Mika—"

"No! She's going to open this door right now!" She pounded on the door again.

"Listen to me! Mika was goaded by Isara! I saw the whole thing!"

"But Mela said—"

"She's lying! I swear it, Beriska!"

"I'm not!" Mela's voice shrilled. "She hit Isara! I heard it!"

"I thought you said you saw it before!" Beriska said. There was a moment of silence, like a calm before the storm. "Get upstairs, now," she said quietly. That voice would have sent chills down Mika's spine had she been paying attention. "Danya, you deal with Mika, but she and I are going to have a long discussion. And why are you still standing here, Mela? I said get upstairs!"

"But—"

There was a smack. "Now!" she roared.

There followed another moment of quiet, broken only by the sound of Mika's quiet sobbing as she wondered for the second time that night why Danya had defended her. The Togruta had to hate her after how they had fought and bickered, so what game was she playing? It couldn't be something as simple as Danya just trying to be her friend.

"Mika, it's Danya. Open the door."

"Go away!" she yelled, feeling the rushing energy of the Force bubbling inside of her, ready to lash out in a destructive wave. She fought it down and double over, a hollow ache in her chest.

"You aren't in any trouble, Mika," Danya pleaded. "Open the door, _chicha_." When Mika refused to answer, there came the sound of electronics sparking. "I'm opening the door, now. It's only me."

Why didn't I smash the control plate? she wondered. What would Danya possibly have to say to her? There was a double beep, and the door hissed open. In her mind's eye, Mika could just picture all the other women standing at the door, gawking.

"I'm coming in, _chicha_," Danya said softly. The door hissed shut. "It's just me—stang! You're damaged!" She ran up to the stall door and tried opening it. "Mika, open the door! If you're damaged, you need help!"

"Get away from me!" she hissed. "You're just as bad as Isara. Go tattle like you always do!" She could see Danya's bare feet and the bottoms of her beige silk pajamas below the edge of the stall door.

She leapt up and climbed over the stall door, dropping down next to Mika, concern clearly written on her face. "Are you buggy?" she scolded. "Stang, girl! It's everywhere!" She opened the stall door and ran out to grab some paper towels from the dispenser, then returned. She put the paper towels on Mika's arm and squeezed to staunch the blood flow, but Mika fought back.

"Get off me, you bantha!" she yelled, trying to push Danya away, who was suddenly as immovable as a stone wall.

"Stop! Stop it, Mika! I'm trying to help you," she said, trying to keep pressure on the wound.

"No! Just leave me be!"

"I will not!" She pulled Mika to her feet with surprising strength and dragged her over to the sink. "Let me help you, girl!" She stood on Mika's left and held her arm under flowing water.

She gave up. "It doesn't matter anyway," she said bitterly. "Beriska's going to kick me out, so let her! Then I'll finish the job!"

Danya's reaction startled her. She grabbed Mika by the back of the neck and shook her. "Don't _ever_ say that, you fool-headed girl!" she yelled. "I can't believe you would even _consider_ something like that! I don't want that, and I know Beriska doesn't, either."

"Why do you care?" she snarled, wincing in pain at the strength of Danya's grip. "You hate me just as much as the rest of them!"

The Togruta gaped and pushed her away. "Is _that_ what you think?" She sounded shocked. "You _are_ a fool!" She took out her comlink and activated it, never taking her eyes off of Mika's. "Asha, bring my red box in my locker to the employee's refresher, along with a mop bucket. Alone," she said. "No, Beriska doesn't need to know anything! I mean it! And don't even think about saying something to Isara!" She shut off the comlink and put it back in her pocket.

Mika looked away. Danya was going to do as she wished so she figured that she might as well just go along with it. The sooner it was over, the better.

Danya turned the water off and lifted her injured arm and quietly examined the laceration. Only the sound of water dripping somewhere broke the silence. "Stang, it's deep." She grabbed more paper towels and wet them with warm water, then cleaned the blood off the injured arm. "Hey, look at me," she said quietly, gently pulling Mika's face towards hers. "I don't hate you, Mika, and I certainly don't want to see you hurt yourself. Hey, look at me!"

Stomach clenched in knots, she forced herself to look up into Danya's dark blue eyes, saw only concern and compassion there.

"I'm not going to say anything to Beriska. I promise. We'll clean this mess up and as far as she'll know, you came in here to be alone."

"Why are you doing this?" She looked away and wiped her eyes with her free hand, vowing to never cry again. She was sick of being weak; she hated crying and feeling helpless, and even the act of making such a vow made her feel like a child.

"Because everyone needs a friend," she answered, turning to the wounded arm. "I just don't know you, Mika. I'd like to, but every time I try, you say something nasty to me. I know, too, that you're not a bad person. You came to my rescue last week, even though you thought I was someone else." She lifted the injured arm and lightly padded it dry with the paper towels. "You've avoided me entirely since then and haven't even given me the chance to thank you."

She closed her eyes, wresting her emotions under control. Had she really misjudged Danya so badly? It didn't seem possible, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. Kai would be very disappointed if she knew how badly her sister messed up.

Asha rushed in, pushing a mop bucket on wheels. Tucked under her arm was the red box, which she handed to Danya. She looked ready to faint at the sight of the blood. "Is she—is she going to be okay?"

"She'll be fine," Danya answered. "Remember what I said. You breathe a word of this to anyone, and I'll be on you like a rancor on carrion." She opened the kit and pulled out a bacta geltab, a bottle of Anticeptin-D, and a tube of dermaseal.

"I said I wouldn't!"

"Good. Now, get out before you faint, girl. One injury is plenty for me to fix."

Asha didn't need to be told twice.

Mika, face burning in humiliation, looked away. How could she even begin to apologize?

Danya shut off the water after rinsing the arm once more, then patted it dry again. "This may sting a bit, but I have to clean the wound," she said. She popped the cap off of the aerosolized can of Anticeptin-D and sprayed the cut.

She tried not to scream, but a whimper escaped—the sting was agonizing. Then, it was gone as if it had never been; the cooling anaesthetic chemicals kicked in and numbed the wound.

Very gently, the Togruta woman squeezed the bacta into the cut from the geltab, then pinched it shut expertly with her fingers and brushed dermaseal across it, which dried almost instantly and sealed it shut. There was only a faint line and the shiny coating of dermaseal to show anything had happened. "Good as new. Probably won't even leave a scar." Holding Mika's arm, she brushed her thumb across the other scars lined up on the inside of her forearm. "I think you have enough of these." Then, she noticed the tiny scar on the palm of her left hand. "What is this?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

Mika studied her for a moment, debating whether or not to tell her, then sighed. She pulled down the left shoulder of her one-piece, baring the skin along the top of her small left breast. About five centimeters long, the twin of the scar on her palm was a thin vertical line ending about a centimeter above the dark blue skin of the nipple.

A smile tugged at the corner of Danya's mouth as she turned to clean her hands. "Your sister is Togruta."

Mika pulled her suit back into place. "Kai Jin." Her throat tightened with emotion. "I failed her," she admitted in a whisper. "I couldn't keep them from taking her, and now, I have to find her, and I don't even know where to start." She held up her left arm. "I deserve these."

"No you do _not_!" she said, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. "The _kolo tandar_ can't be broken ever. Just because you were unable to keep someone from taking Kai Jin doesn't mean you failed her. Take it from another Togruta—your sister doesn't think that, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want you damaging yourself."

Her eyes spilled tears, betraying her, and she angrily wiped them away. "I, uh, I'm sorry," she stammered miserably. "I've been terrible to you, Danya."

"It's okay," she said, putting away the medical supplies. "Look, maybe we—maybe we can just start over, and it won't take another year to become friends."

I won't be here for another year, she thought sadly, but nodded. "I'd like that, I think." She picked up the knife and tossed it into the incinerator chute. She only wished she'd she didn't have to leave now that she'd finally found someone she might grow to call friend. The story of my life, she thought darkly as she mopped up the blood. She was so tired of being alone.

"Look, I'm off tonight if you want to go do something."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, and she managed to look Danya in the eyes for a moment. "Sure."

Danya leaned back against the counter. "We can go hang out somewhere and just sit and talk, if you'd like." She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. "If you ever _do_ need to talk, Mika, you can trust me."

She stopped mopping, her muscles tensing. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Danya had just defended her against Isara and her clique, was covering for her with Beriska, and had told Asha to keep her mouth shut in no uncertain terms. She'd also patched her arm. If she'd really wanted Mika in trouble, she'd had multiple opportunities, and yet, had turned them all down so far.

There was something just a little off about Danya, though, and she'd never been able to put her finger on just what it was. Whenever she tried to sense her through the Force, it was as if she was only partially there, whatever the blazes _that_ meant. She could never tell if Danya was being deceitful. It was unnerving to not be able to rely on the Force to gauge someone. Today, however had laid some of her wariness to rest, though.

So, she nodded. "Thank you," she said neutrally.

They left the refresher together, and Beriska was waiting for them in her office. "Get in here, you, two!" She didn't sound happy.

Sighing, she walked into the office and prepared for Beriska to lay into her.

Instead, the Feeorin, "No more locking yourself in that refresher."

"Um, okay," she answered, caught off-guard by Beriska's statement. She thought the woman was going to flay her alive.

"While I'm glad to see you two are finally getting along, this behavior of yours has to stop, Mika."

She wisely decided to say nothing, and instead looked at the floor.

"I've dealt with Isara and Mela. I don't want you saying anything to them. Understood?"

She nodded. "I've got nothing to say to them, anyway."

"Good. I want you to be nice to Danya, and Danya, you keep her away from Isara and her lot."

"With pleasure," Danya said savagely. "I'll start tonight by taking her to the White Room Club, with your permission, of course."

"Danya—" Mika said in shock, suddenly unsure about their new understanding.

"Good idea," Beriska said, completely ignoring Mika's protest. "Just don't get into any fights." She fixed Mika with a knowing stare, as if to say, _No using the Force, girl!_

"No problem!" Danya said, wrapping an arm around Mika's shoulders. "We'll be as quiet as scurriers in a temple." She escorted Mika out. "It'll be great," she told her. "I heard that Syren is playing there tonight."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. A new glimmick band, their music was fast and noisy, and had a hypnotic, repetitive bass line. "A lot better than Figrin D'an."

"Ugh! I can't stand jizz-wailing!"

The few girls in the great room looked a bit surprised to see Mika and Danya together, though Asha waved from the theater area around the holoprojector. Isara was nowhere to be seen; nor was her coterie.

As they rounded the corner to head to the dorm, Asha bounded over. "Hi, Mika," she said, smiling. "I'm glad you're okay."

She looked at Danya out of the corner of her eye, then back at Asha, suddenly very conscious of all the eyes watching them. "Um, thanks."

She grinned. "You should have seen what happened to Isara," she whispered conspiratorially, her lekku twitching in excitement. "Beriska asked her what had happened, and when she tried saying you hit her, the old woman _spanked_ her! It was hilarious!" she laughed. "Mela was behind Beriska, trying to warn her not to lie, but you know Isara!"

Mika smiled at the image of Beriska taking Isara over her knee like she'd threatened Mika with so many times before. The one thing Beriska had no tolerance for was lying, because if you lied to her, she'd say, she couldn't protect you if something went down, and being a Vigo for Black Sun only went so far.

"Hey, why don't you come with us?" Danya suggested.

"Where are you going?" Asha asked as they entered the dorm.

"The White Room Club."

"Great!" she said excitedly. "Syren is playing tonight! And then there's the hot guys to dance with!" She ran over to her bunk. "Let me shower first."

Unabashedly, Danya went to her locker and began to undress. "I'm looking forward to sipping a comet duster and flirting with that cute human bartender."

Asha laughed as she stripped down to her microbriefs and put on her robe. "He _is_ cute, and his chest—" She purred, then laughed.

Shaking her head, Mika gathered her things out of her locker, laying out on her bed an outfit consisting of a cream-colored one-piece with a low-cut front trimmed in tan synthfur. It had a hood, long sleeves and belt loops, and would hug her form without being too immodest. She added a new pair of white sneakers she'd bought the day before, and a soft, nerf-leather black belt with a CIS emblem buckle that she'd thought was ironic when she'd purchased it, considering the CIS ceased to exist when she was six years old.

She'd also picked out a pair of plain white microbriefs, added them to her shower bag, along with her toiletries, then kicked off her sneakers and put on her shower sandals. She put on her robe and shrugged out of her filmy one-piece with the open sides and opaque back panel, clutching the robe closed tightly out of fear of anyone seeing her back.

From the tops of her shoulders to the base of her spine, dozens of long, ugly scars criss-crossed her back, leaving the skin a bumpy mess that she hated seeing. She was so ugly with them, a parting gift of Nerah, who'd been merciless with her scourge and had nearly killed her. Only Kai had kept her alive and applied a paste she'd made to keep the wounds sterile while they healed.

She could remember little from that night, but it was more than enough. She remembered screaming herself hoarse as the lash fell again and again, the seconds turning into hours as the pain burned like a star. She remembered Kai not being spared either. They'd both been shackled by their wrists from the ceiling, facing each other because Nerah had wanted each of them to see the agony on the other's face.

It had been her fault, and the guilt still hung about her neck like a neutronium weight. She'd told Nerah what Mol Terrin had done, and the woman had laughed at her. The next thing she knew, the rage and hatred boiled up in her and _shifted_, somehow, flowing through her and out of her. It took form, and slammed the vicious Farghul into the wall with a sickening crunch. She'd grabbed Kai, and they'd fled, thinking Nerah was dead.

When they were caught several days later, they learned to their horrible surprise that Nerah was, in fact, not dead. Mika had begged her to spare Kai, who'd only been thirteen at the time. Cursing her as a filthy Jedi, Nerah ordered them shackled and stripped, and began beating Kai first, telling her that it was her friend's fault that she suffered. Even though Kai told Mika later that she didn't blame her, Mika had never forgiven herself.

Kai got off light, though, because Mika, trying to get Nerah mad enough to focus on her instead, called her a dog. Nerah belonged to the felinoid Farghul species, and was as vain as she was cruel; this was too great an insult to ignore. She turned on Mika with a vengeance.

Before Mika passed out, she heard Nerah promise her that she would never wear another stitch of clothing as long as she lived so that everyone would see her scars and know how Nerah dealt with filthy Jedi scum.

She closed the locker and leaned her head against it, gritting her teeth against the tears that threatened to spill.

"Hey, none of that," Danya said, walking up and wrapping an arm around Mika's shoulders. "Tonight is about having fun."

She nodded. "Well, let's see if I remember how."


	9. Chapter 9

Well, here it is, Chapter Nine. If you made it this far, that must mean I'm doing something right, though I wish you guys would give me feedback...anything at all to tell me I'm doing something right. Or maybe it's so well written that there's no room for improvement...? *snorts* Yeah, even _I_ had trouble believing that one! lol

This chapter was harder to write because I didn't want Mika's emotional state to come across as trite. Plus, she's still young in terms of learning to control her emotions so that she can better control the Force, though her rage comes through a little too easily which frightens her. I'm trying to be subtle with it, though, because it's better to be conservative, I think, than to overdo the whole, "I'm still a noob at being a Force-user" plot device.

Let me know what you think, please! There's free beer! Okay, there's beer, but it's not free. ...Okay, there's no beer, but still...lol Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Asha had chosen a slinky black dress that was open along the length of its sides and hugged her modest curves. Her _cha'andar_ was black leather with gold trim, and she wore closed-toe stiletto heels. She grabbed a black sequined clutch and her floor length black, cher-silk cloak with a deep, cowled hood. As long as no one looked too closely, it was impossible to tell that her outfit had come from a thrift store, though the collar ruined the glamorous appearance. The cloak, however, was the real deal.

"Where in blazes did you get that?" Danya asked, fingering the cloak. "This is cher-silk! It's worth more than my airspeeder!"

"Um, it fell off a cargo lift?" She grinned

"You're such a liar!" She shook her head. "Let's hope that 'cargo lift' wasn't from around here." Danya wore snug black pants of a soft dura-fiber that clung to her curves, high-heel boots, and a thin white t-shirt with three undone buttons at the neck. This accentuated her cleavage, which was assisted by a lacy black bra that could just barely be seen beneath the shirt's fabric. She grabbed her black nerf-wool p-coat. "Come on, Mika. Let's go have some fun."

"Hold on," Mika said, sliding her _cha'andar_ on. It completely covered her lekku in warm, white synthsilk, and the sleeves were stitched to the leather headband with golden thread. She reached under her bunk.

"What in blazes—" Danya started to ask. Her eyes widened when Mika pulled out a large vibroblade.

She no longer had her hold-out blaster since Beriska had confiscated it, but at least there was this. "Never leave home without it," she muttered, tucking it into the back of her waistband.

Asha suddenly found something interesting on the ceiling to look at.

"You know those are illegal without a license, right?" Danya asked.

"So is slavery," Mika shot back, a little more vehemently than she had intended, then felt sheepish for being so defensive.

"Touché."

She grabbed her leather jacket with its spiked epaulets, then headed for the door. She didn't really believe she'd need the knife, but better to have it and never need it than to need it and not have it.

Beriska was waiting for them, standing in the open door of her office with her arms crossed. "You three are up to no good," she said, hiding a grin as she looked them over. Her eyes widened when she saw Asha's cloak. "Is that _cher-silk_?" she asked. "Nevermind. I don't even want to guess where you got _that_ from. And as for you," she said, turning to Danya. "I expect you to keep everyone out of trouble."

"Of course!" she answered, grinning.

"Don't be coy with me, girl. Stay under the speed limit in that souped up pod racer of yours."

She did her best to look innocent, but no one was fooled in the least. "Come along, then. Syren is waiting."

As Mika walked past Beriska at the end of the line, the Feeorin held her back. "I'm glad to see you at least attempting to fit in, Mika," she said, patting her on the back. "Now, go have fun, and remember to keep these visible." She tapped Mika's collar where a tag had been added displaying the Blue Nebula emblem. Beriska was well-known in the Gnaw, and anyone who bothered her slaves had a nasty way of falling off a sidewalk and into airlane traffic. "Don't try to be a hero if someone's bothering you." She gave her a meaningful stare.

"I'll try," she said noncommittally.

"You better." She gave her a gentle nudge. "Go on, then."

The night air was chill as they stepped out the back door of the Blue Nebula. Asha climbed into the back of Danya's little red SoroSuub CX4-S, and Mika took the front passenger seat. The interior was a burgundy velour and smelled faintly of them fruity air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.

"If it was warmer, I'd put the top down," Danya said, starting the engine and gunning it, making the airspeeder vibrate. She turned on the heater and the defroster, then turned on the radio, and heavy alloy music blared out of the speakers. "Sorry," she said, turning the radio down.

"Can we stop at Biscuit Baron? I'll treat," Mika said, suddenly wanting a bantha burger.

"No way. You're my guests tonight." She feathered the throttle and shot out of the parking spot, then turned hard into the alley, flying between the buildings at breakneck speed.

Asha let out a screech as she was thrown into the side of the back seat.

Mika gritted her teeth and gripped the armrests tightly to keep from wincing. "Why do you have the grav-chairs turned off?"

"Makes for a more exciting ride," Danya laughed. "Besides, my driving isn't that bad!" She slammed on the airbreaks, stopping at the mouth of the alley, then let the airspeeder inch forward to see the flow of air traffic.

"I think I'd need to change my microbriefs," Asha said, buckling her seatbelts. "If I was wearing any."

Blushing furiously, Mika followed suit, and felt just a little safer.

"She's incorrigible," Danya said, grinning at Mika.

"Oh, cool down. You can't wear any in a dress like this, or they would show through on the sides," turning to slap her bare hips through the open sides of her dress. "Not only that, they would just be targets for some sleemo to grab at."

"Here we go!" She throttled the accelerator and the airspeeder's engines roared to life, causing them to take off like a shot. The vehicle rocketed into air traffic, darting around several taxis and finally settling behind an airbus.

"I think I might need to change _my_ microbriefs," Mika muttered. She smiled shyly and raised an eyebrow at Asha, still feeling a bit awkward interacting with women that only a week before, she was sure looked down on her.

Asha stuck out her tongue at Mika and laughed.

"Will you two old women relax?" Danya protested. "I know what I'm doing! Now, where is the nearest Biscuit Baron?" She ducked her head down and looked up and out of the windscreen to see the higher levels.

"What time does Syren start?" Mika asked.

"Uh, eight-thirty, I think," Asha answered, examining her reflection in the rear vanity mirror built into the back of the front seat. She applied some lip gloss. "We still have time."

She checked her chrono. "I guess, if we hurry."

"To hell with this," Danya growled, slamming the throttle forward. The SoroSuub shot forward as she pulled back on the control yoke. They rose several levels in seconds as she weaved deftly around traffic. Several taxis honked at her in annoyance, and in moments, a Biscuit Baron appeared up ahead. She leveled off, pulling in behind an air taxi. She patted Mika's hand. "Relax, _chicha_," she said. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"How reassuring," she deadpanned.

"Let's go in," Asha said. "I'd like to use the refresher after that little ride."

They pulled into the parking lot of the Biscuit Baron, and when Mika set foot on the ground, her knees trembled. She'd never been so glad to stand on solid ground. She took a deep breath, taking in the smells of fried bantha patties and cool night air.

"All right. We've got twenty minutes before Syren starts," Danya said, getting out of the airspeeder and stretching. "So, let's be quick and—Mika? What's wrong?"

She slowly turned, looking into all the shadows of the parking lot, into the empty airspeeders, then into the mouths of the alleys. Seeing no one, she shifted her gaze to the Biscuit Baron, and up at the surrounding buildings. Her lekku twitched nervously. She had the distinct impression that she was being watched, but she could see no one actually observing her. When she reached out through the Force, she only sensed a vague malevolence, but couldn't pinpoint its location.

She jumped when Danya put a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?"

She nodded, her face and lekku flushing in embarrassment. "Come on. Let's hurry. I want to catch Syren's opening song."

Danya shot a suspicious glance at Asha, then shrugged and followed.

Inside the entrance was a cardboard cutout of the Baron, a bearded human wearing a fool's grin and a gaudy crown, dressed in even more ostentatious clothing that looked like someone had held at blaster-point the designers for Naboo and Alderaanian royalty and forced them to collaborate. There were half a dozen people inside, most by the windows looking out onto the airlane traffic.

Mika walked up to the counter. "I'd like a double bantha burger, hold the cheese, a large fries, and a large gizer ale, please."

The human, a young kid dressed in an ugly brown and yellow striped shirt and black pants, asked, "To go?" He looked all of fifteen.

"Yes." She stepped out of the way.

"It'll all be one order to go," Danya said, pulling out an aurodium credit chip with EMERITUS BANKING written across the top. Underneath that was a strange line of triangles and dots forming a geometric pattern running horizontally across the length of the credit chip.

Gooseflesh appeared on Mika's lekku when she saw the credit chip, though she couldn't say why. It had nothing to do with the fact that in order to get an aurodium credit chip from Emeritus, you had to have quite a bit of money in the bank. She reached out with the Force, but the watcher had vanished.

"I'll have the bantha wings and a blue-milk shake," Danya continued, looking up at the menu displayed above and behind the counter.

"I want the Jolly Meal with a large fries," Asha said. "Large gizer ale, too."

"Really? A Jolly Meal? What are you, eight?"

"What?" she asked sheepishly, then laughed. "I want the Clone Trooper toy!"

Danya paid for the meal, then turned to Asha and raised one of her white brow lines. "Clone Trooper toy?"

"I collect them, you know."

"I do, now!" She took the two bags from the kid behind the counter and handed the Jolly Meal box to Asha. "Let's get out of here."

Mika followed them back out to the car, still trying to feel out that secret observer through the Force. Cal Shara hadn't gotten around to teaching her how to fine-tune her awareness through the Force, and sometimes, it felt like she was casting out a net that was too loose, so her awareness was often hit-or-miss.

When they were back in the airspeeder, Asha said, "You may want to drive a little slower so we don't end up wearing our food."

"With as little as you're wearing," Danya said over her shoulder, "clean-up should be a breeze."

Mika snorted, trying not to laugh with a mouth full of food.

"Ha, ha. I'm the one wearing cher-silk, remember?" Asha asked smugly.

"That doesn't make you Naboo royalty, _chicha_," Danya said, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. She entered air traffic, smoothly sliding behind a cargo-speeder, then pressed a button on the dash, activating the autopilot. She set the destination for one level directly above the White Room Club. "Parking is always better just outside the Gnaw," she explained to Mika.

As Danya and Asha chatted and ate, Mika ate in silence. It was all a new experience to her, this "hanging out." So much of her life had been alone but for Kai, and now, the feeling of being an outsider persisted. Yet, she was glad, in a way, that Danya had seen her at her worst because from that point, things could only get better. At least, she hoped.

It would also make it that much harder to leave Denon and the Blue Nebula behind. The first friend besides Kai, who was her sister, and now she had to leave Danya behind. It was better this way, she tried telling herself. Would Danya still be so accepting if she found out that she was a Force user? Or would the Imperial bounty be too much of a temptation for her? The Togruta obviously like wealth and the trappings that came with it.

"You're kind of quiet over there," Danya said to Mika.

"Just thinking," she said, finishing her food. She sipped her gizer ale.

"Don't get all moody, now. We're going out on that dance floor to have fun, not brood."

She smiled and put her trash in the bag, then set the bag on the floor. "I, uh, actually can't dance." She blushed at the admission. Who'd ever heard of a Twi'lek that couldn't dance?

"What?" Asha sputtered, covering her mouth in surprise.

"That's all right," Danya said. "Just grab a cute guy, swing your hips around, and give him a smile. You'll do fine."

Flushing, she looked out the window, smiling sheepishly.

They passed by the White Room on their way to the level above it, and the place looked packed, with a line of people waiting to get in. The front façade of the building was painted white, and a large black awning hung above the entrance, which was guarded by a hulking Devaronian dressed in a tight black shirt, black cargo pants, and boots. Written on the awning in large white letters was White Room Club.

"Stang! The line is too long!" Asha groaned. "We'll never get in!"

"Lucky for you that I know the bouncer, then, huh?" Danya said, turning off the autopilot. She pulled into a parking garage directly above the White Room Club and rolled down the pilot-side window.

The garage was attended by a battered 5YQ protocol droid working behind a mag-sealed pane of glass. "Five credits, please," it said in Basic as Danya came to a stop.

She reached into her pocket and counted out five credits, then tossed them into the collection funnel and rolled the window up. The plastoid barrier painted black and yellow lifted and she flew through.

"How do you know the bouncer?" Mika asked.

"Fane comes in at night, sometimes," Danya explained. "He likes it when I bring him his drinks."

"You do more than that," Asha snorted. "I saw you sitting on his lap one time, and –"

"Hey, he tips well, so he gets an occasional lap dance." Danya's lekku and montrals flushed slightly, though, as she said this.

Mika smiled. She hadn't thought Danya was capable of embarrassment.

"I saw where his hands were!" Asha laughed.

"Anyways," Danya said archly. "Getting in won't be a problem." She parked next to an expensive Mobquet business-class 1c sedan that was wine red with black and chrome trim. "Careful getting out. My insurance premiums are high enough."

"Can't imagine why," Mika muttered softly.

"I heard that."

They could hear the dance music thumping outside of the club as they walked past the people waiting in line, some of whom gave them unpleasant glares. Most of the people were human or near-human, though there were more thn a few Twi'leks, Balosars, Rodians, and even a Sakiyan.

"Miss Kotara, how nice of you to come visit me," the Devaronian Fane rumbled in a deep voice, grinning as the tall Danya stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the side of his mouth. "And you brought friends."

"I heard Syren is playing," she purred, pushing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath to accentuate her chest.

Fane cleared his throat nervously and unhooked the velvet rope. "You owe me, little one," he said, grinning.

"We'll see," she teased, winking and grabbing Mika's hand. "Come on, _chicha_. Thanks, Fane!"

Inside, it was dark and warm. They walked down a short, narrow corridor, past a droid detector, and then past a set of doors on either side that were marked MALE and FEMALE in Basic, Huttese, and Bocce. The corridor opened into a large, square room with a sunken dance floor in the center, separated from the rest of the club by a low railing on all sides. Tables dotted the raised area, and along the wall on the right was a long bar staffed by several well-muscled human males, wearing tight white shirts and black pants. Along the left wall were booths, and along the back wall was the DJ booth and band platforms. Dozens of people were on the dance floor, hands in the air and grinding against each other as the lights flashed in time with the bass line. More people were scattered amongst the tables and booths, and a dozen or more lined the bar.

"Oh, there he is!" Danya said, pulling Mika over to the bar where one human was pouring a drink for a Rodian woman.

Mika had to admit he was cute, with short dark hair and dark eyes. His arms were large, and his chest was very well-defined. She was suddenly very self-conscious.

"Hi!" Danya said, grinning at him. "Uh, is there somewhere that we can put our things?" She slid a ten-credit note across the bar.

He smiled and took the money. "Sure is." He took their coats and purses and tucked them safely under the bar. "So, what'll it be?"

"Comet duster, for me. Put it on my tab." She handed him her credit chip. "Theirs, too."

"I'll have a nova-bomb," Asha said, grinning at him and making no attempt to disguise where her eyes were looking.

"And you?" he asked Mika.

"Uh, just a Bespin Lite in a bottle," she stammered, forcing herself to look him in the eye.

He set out a bottle of the pale amber beer in front of her, then made Danya's comet duster and set it in front of the Togruta. Asha's drink came next; he poured beer into a tall mug, then poured a single shot of a bright red liquor into a clear shot glass, and dropped that into the mug of beer, making it foam.

Asha downed it in one go as Danya and Mika watched agape. "Wow!" she gasped afterwards. "That kind of burns!"

They laughed.

A voice came on the loudspeakers. "Ladies and gentlemen," it said, "the White Room Club is proud to present the galactic sensation, Denon's very own Syren!"

The crowd erupted in loud cheers and whistles as the music began.

"Whoo!" Danya screamed. "Come on, girl!" She grabbed Mika's hand and made a bee-line for the dance floor before Mika could take more than a sip of her beer.

Her stomach tensed in self-conscious embarrassment as she found Danya's hands on her hips, pushing her one way, then another, forcing her to dance.

"Like that!" she shouted over the music. She took Mika's hands and lifted them up, holding them above their heads as the crush of the crowd pressed them together.

Feeling foolish, and laughing nervously, she forced herself to relax. She focused on the music act. Led by a human woman with short purple hair, Syren, the band played loud. Syren's vocals were full of echo reverb, giving them a haunting quality, and were laid over a hypnotic, repetitive beat. The song was called, "Rule the Night," and it was one of her favorites.

Asha stood behind her, grinning. "I thought you didn't know how to dance?" she laughed.

Danya grabbed Mika's hips again. "Just like that!" she shouted, guiding her movements. "There you go!" She spun and backed into Mika.

"Hey!" Mika laughed, blushing.

Asha put her hands where Danya's had been on her hips, holding her close behind. "This is great!" She threw her head back and let her lekku flail, twitching them in time with the music.

She fell into the rhythm of the song as Syren sang, the beat of the music pulsing in hypnotic syncopation. She closed her eyes as more bodies pressed against her from people flooding the dance floor, and focused on the music. Feeling Asha's hands on her hips, she placed her own on Danya's hips to keep track of her as the Togruta ground against her. The bass beat in her chest as she danced in time with the music, and it surprised her to find that she was actually enjoying herself, though her self-consciousness only faded a little.

Danya turned to face her and put her arms over her shoulders as a new song came on. "You little liar!" she laughed. "'Oh, I don't know how to dance!' Ha!"

She blushed as she opened her eyes, suddenly conscious of how close to her Asha and Danya were, and tried begging off. "I need a drink!"

"Oh, no, you don't!" she said. "Asha and I aren't done with you, yet!"

She laughed. "You can't hold me hostage!"

"Just watch me!" she scoffed, pulling Mika back between them.

They ended up dancing for the entire two hour set that Syren performed, though it seemed much shorter to Mika, who'd managed to work up a sweat in the process. Danya and Asha would occasionally pull a random guy into their midst for a song or two, then push them away and it would just be them again. Asha seemed to find Mika's nervousness amusing, as Mika had never danced with a guy before, let alone so many cute ones. She'd never danced with other women, for that matter, either. Her face stayed warm with a blush the whole time.

Finally, after cheering for Syren at the end of the set, they returned to the bar for fresh drinks. This time, Mika was determined to enjoy her beer, which Asha also ordered. Her legs ached, and it felt great to sit and catch her breath.

"That was fun, _chicha_!" Danya said, smiling. She put a hand on Mika's back. "What did you think?"

She grinned back, unable to stop. "Not as bad as I'd feared."

"My girl!" she laughed, wrapping an arm around her for a hug.

"Let's go back out there!" Asha said. "I see a guy I wouldn't mind snogging!"

"Me, too!"

Mika, smiling and blushing at their brazenness, shook her head and sipped her beer. "You two—" she started to say, then froze, her eyes widening.

"What?" Danya looked around. "What is it, Mika?"

Her smile fell as she suddenly felt that malevolent gaze again, stronger than ever. Whomever it was, was here, in the club. Icy dread tingled down her spine as she reached out with the Force and spotted him immediately. A tall human wearing tight fitting black pants and a red tunic stood on the opposite side of the dance floor, looking for her.

"Kiff!" she swore, ducking down, fear making her heart race. "We've got to go!"

"What? Why?" Danya asked in confusion.

"Give us our stuff!" she shouted at the bartender. If that human wasn't a Force user himself, she'd eat her _cha'andar._ She grabbed her jacket. "We're in danger! Because of me! Just trust me on this, okay?"

Asha grinned. "She's joking, right?"

"No, I'm not! Let's go!" she yelled.

Staring at her in fear, Danya reached for her coat and credit chip. "Do as she says, Asha! It's time to go!"

"Stang! I hope he didn't see me!" Mika muttered, tossing Asha's cloak and purse to her.

"Who?"

"Human male in black pants and a red shirt. Other side of the dance floor." Why did he have to show up, now? she fumed. He'd ruined what was going to be her first perfect night in—well, ever. Everything had been going so well for a change. It wasn't fair! She only hoped he didn't know about the Blue Nebula, but if he caught them, he would because of the tags on their collars.

"The dark haired guy? He doesn't look so tough," Asha said, fastening her cloak. "Who is he, anyway?"

"A bounty hunter," she lied, pushing them towards the exit.

"A bounty hunter! What in blazes would he want with you?"

"It's a long story. Now, move!" She could still sense him back there, searching for her. That wouldn't last long, she knew; he'd home in on her with the Force because she wasn't skilled enough to mask her Force presence well, though she was trying with all her effort now. What in the void was she going to do with a vibroblade against a lightsaber? Too bad Beriska hadn't let her keep hers; it would certainly be handy, now.

She felt his glare zero in on her, then heard not one but _two_ snap-hisses of lightsabers igniting. Panic fluttered in her stomach, and she fought to control her fear as the crowd began screaming and stampeding towards the exit. "Move!" she shouted, pushing Asha ahead of her and through the door. Hand locked around Danya's, she pulled the Togruta through with her.

The Force user had to be an Inquisitor, and he was none too gentle about clearing a path through the crowd to reach her. As Mika and her two new friends ran out onto the street, she could feel him calling on the Force to push people out of the way, breaking bones and injuring many. Her only concern was getting her friends safe, knowing that she didn't really stand a chance against the Inquisitor. Tears rose in her eyes as panic swept over her. "In here!" she shouted, ducking into an alley. "Run!"

Half-way down the alley, she stopped. "Get home! If I don't return in an hour, tell Beriska to get everyone out!" She drew her vibroblade and turned.

Danya stopped and started to run back. "No! You're coming with! You can't face him!"

"Go!" she shouted, her vision blurring. "It's me he wants, not you!"

The Togruta hesitated, reaching for Mika.

Her heart broke as she forced herself to snarl at her. "Go, damn it!"

Danya grabbed Asha's hand and ran around the corner.

At least they will be safer this way, she thought, terror constricting her throat.

The Inquisitor appeared at the mouth of the alley. "Your running is over, Mik'aventura," he said quietly. "Surrender or die."

A tear spilled down her cheek as her eyes narrowed in anger. "E chu ta, chuba D'emperiolo stoopa!" Calling him an Imperial fool might not have been the wisest decision, but she didn't care.

"As you will," he snapped and charged at her.

Struggling through her paralyzing fear to stay open to the flow of the Force, she watched him draw ever closer, thinking she would die from the fear before he ever reached her. At the last possible moment, though, there was a flicker in the Force. It was barely perceptible, but she followed its urging, stepping aside and ducking as he swung his two crimson lightsabers through the space where her head had been a moment before.

Then, she reached out through the Force to touch him, and she nearly gagged at the darkness she found there. It was like a mouthful of oily filth, and only through sheer determination was she able to keep her focus. As he spun, she _pushed_ as hard as she could, and he flew sideways into a dumpster with a loud crunch, leaving a dent in the metal. As he fell to the ground, she moved towards him, knowing that one of them would have to die. She'd never actually killed anyone before, but she knew that she would now have to. The realization in the split second it took to ready her next attack filled her with a quiet resolve that was startling in its tranquility. There was no dread, no fear, just action.

She launched the vibroblade without thought, calling on the Force to speed its flight. It streaked towards his chest as he was standing up, and only his Force-attuned reflexes saved him. He rolled out of the way and it struck his left shoulder with a bone-jarring impact, and only the blade's tang kept it from going all the way through.

He roared in pain and dropped the lightsaber in his left hand.

Before the lightsaber actually touched the ground, she was already reaching for it through the Force, and it flew to her hand. She ignited it and struck, but he was faster, deflecting her slash with his other lightsaber. He _pushed_ back, but she rolled with it and hit the side of the building hard, but not as hard as the Inquisitor intended.

"You Jedi scum!" he snarled, his rage palpable. He jumped up and pulled her vibroblade out of his shoulder, then cast it aside. "I'm going to kill you and your friends!" He charged.

Rage fueling her, she charged, too, and fought like a nexu. The mention of hurting Danya and Asha made her see red. She launched a series of slashes, but they were awkward and badly timed because of her lack of extensive training. He parried and blocked them, and countered, but she, in turn, parried and blocked as well. Their lightsabers flared and sparked with each block. He came in high, and she turned it aside, causing his blade to shear off a corner of a dumpster in a spray of sparks as the metal crashed to the pavement.

Asha screamed.

Suddenly, she realized that her friends were still nearby, watching from around the corner. Fools! she cursed, suddenly on the defensive as the Inquisitor grinned and stepped up his attacks. It was all she could do to keep him at bay. "Go!" she screamed back over her shoulder. Only the fact that she sensed them finally fleeing gave her some peace. She would sell her life dearly if she must, and it wouldn't be in vain. Her only regrets were the promises she broke—Kai to find her, and Beriska to not call on the Force.

The Inquisitor was faster than she was, and it would only be a matter of time until he was able to strike her fatally, but she would not give a single centimeter to the darkness that already tainted her. She'd nearly given into the Dark Side when she'd tried killing Nerah; to do so now would be a betrayal of all those she held dear.

As his lightsaber blade drew closer and closer to her, she felt the end rapidly approaching. This is it, she thought sadly. She turned his lightsaber aside one last time, then sensed a twinge in the flow of the Force. She lashed out with a fist, striking his left shoulder as hard as she could.

He screamed and jumped back. "You _bitch!_" he roared, then ran at her.

Giving herself over to the Force, she spun and stepped to one side, whipping the lightsaber around behind her in a scarlet blur.

The Inquisitor screamed again, though this time, it was a gurgling roar of pain.

She spun again, and crouched in a defensive stance, coldly watching as the man staggered two steps and dropped his lightsaber, which shut off. Blood sprayed from the side of his neck, spattering against the side of the building as he turned to glare at her hatefully. His mouth worked as if he were trying to say something, but only blood came out. He fell to his knees as his hands went to the side of his neck, then collapsed and lay still.

The enormity of killing him fell on her with crushing weight. She'd taken a life, something that could never be undone. Tears came to her eyes as she tossed the lightsaber away and looked at her hands in horror. She wiped them on her pants as if they were dirty from touching his lightsaber.

She looked up and down the alley, then staggered away in a daze as the tears fell from her eyes. Overwhelmed with fear and unsure if she should even go home, she leaned against the side of a building and retched. She knew on some level that the guilt she felt was illogical, but that did nothing to dispel it. He would have killed her, and then he would have gone after Danya and Asha, and killed anyone that got in the way.

Another part of her mourned the fact that Danya and Asha would never look at her the same again; they would only see a Force user, a Jedi. Maybe they were on their way to pick up the bounty on her head right now.

She'd chosen turns at random, and was at least half a kilometer from where she'd killed the Inquisitor, but she stopped and leaned back against a building, then covered her face and wept. Things could never be the same. Did she dare return to the Blue Nebula? If she didn't, Beriska would come searching for her, and the collar that she couldn't remove would give her away. But perhaps more importantly, Danya and Asha would never trust her again.

In the distance, she could hear the sirens. Cold, frightened by the prospect of being discovered by the Imperials, she slid down and hugged her knees to her chest. The part that hurt worst is that she'd blown her chance at having some actual friends. Why do I even bother? she cried.

An airspeeder came into the alley. She tried to hide in the shadow of the dumpster she was huddled next to. Go away, she willed it. No one here, just go away.

It stopped on the other side of the dumpster and someone got out. Trance music could be heard coming from the stereo. "Mika!" Danya's voice called out.

"Danya?" she whispered in disbelief, wiping her eyes and carefully peering around the side of the dumpster.

The Togruta was standing just outside of the airspeeder, one leg still in it, and was scanning the shadows for her. "Mika!"

Asha sat in the front passenger seat, and Mika didn't need to reach out with the Force to sense her emotions; she could clearly see from the girl's wide-eyed expression how frightened she was.

Fear froze her in place; would Danya turn her in for the bounty?

Danya spotted her. "Mika! There you are!" She jumped out and rushed over.

Mika jumped back, suddenly unsure of what the Togruta was up to.

"What's wrong? Mika, it's me! We gotta go. That alley is crawling with Imperials, and there was a tracking beacon on my airspeeder." She took another step towards Mika. "_Chicha_, we got to get out of here."

She was still terrified, thinking that maybe there was a chance that this was all just some elaborate ruse to get her in the airspeeder to take her in for the bounty.

"What—you think I would turn you in?" she asked, reading Mika's mind. "Are you nuts? The money isn't worth it. I have way more than that just on my credit chip!" She grabbed Mika's hand lightly. "We have to go, _chicha!_"

She had way more than the bounty on her credit chip? That raised more than a few questions, but one pressed itself forward. "You aren't mad?"

"For what? Why would I be angry?" she asked in confusion. "I have a few questions, but those can wait."

"What about Asha?" she asked.

"What about her? She's just as spooked as anyone else would be, but neither one of us is going to turn you in, or say anything to anyone." She squeezed her hand. "Trust me, Mika."

She let Danya pull her back to the airspeeder. "I'm sorry, Danya. I should have told you, but I didn't know who I could trust with that."

"It's okay. I'm still your friend, and so is Asha." She pulled her seat forward so Mika could get in.

Mika climbed into the warm interior, shivering as she shook off the damp cold. She looked up sheepishly at Asha.

Asha only smiled. "Seeing you in that alley," she started to say, then shook her head and sat back. "I'd need to change my microbriefs…"

"If you were wearing any," she finished for her, smiling a little easier.

Danya got in and the door hissed shut. She feathered the throttle and the airspeeder rocketed forward. "I can't believe those blasted white hats tried putting a tracker on my speeder," she growled.

"You saved our lives," Asha said quietly, looking ahead, then glanced down at her fingers. "Thank you."

"Does this mean you still want to hang out with me?" Mika asked.

"Hell, yeah!" she said quickly, grinning over her shoulder at Mika. "Now, I at least know that if any sleemo tries anything, I've got a Jedi to kick him square in the choobies!"

Danya snorted. "I don't think it works like that," she chuckled. She turned into the air lane, eliciting a horn from the taxi she cut off.

"Now that I know you can do all that cool stuff, it occurs to me that you were holding back on Isara."

"You have no idea. Can I have a tissue, please?" Mika asked. She had held back on Isara, but not only because of fear that she would kill that stupid girl, but because she was afraid of how quickly her rage flared up. She didn't want to give into the Dark Side of the Force. That was the one thing that Cal Shara had driven into her head above all else.

"Oh, sure." She opened the glove compartment where Danya kept a package of them. "Here you go," she said, handing a couple back to Mika.

"Thank you," she said, blowing her nose, which was cold. It also helped mask her relief as tears sprung up. She still had her friends, after all. "You know, I wasn't even supposed to call on the Force." She gave a brief description of how Beriska had caught her in the warehouse and swore her to stay quiet until she could find a contact of hers to hide her off-planet.

"Wait, so you have your own lightsaber?" Asha asked. "What color is it?"

"Green. It's in Beriska's safe."

"That explains why you were so moody that night," Danya said. "Did your sister know?"

She nodded. "Before she performed the _kolo tandar_."

"_Kolo_-what?" Asha asked.

"It's a Togruta rite of bonding," Danya explained. "It made Mika her blood-sister."

"Yeah, but Mika isn't a Togruta."

"Which is what makes me trust her even more. Her sister would only have done that if she trusted Mika with her life, because in essence, that is what she was giving her."

Two police cruisers went shooting past in the opposite direction, their sirens flashing and blaring.

"You really stirred the hornet's nest, Mika."

"Don't remind me," she muttered, slumping in the back seat.

"Well, we won't say anything to Beriska, right?"

"Right," Asha agreed.

"But if Beriska asks, you've got to tell her. Remember, it wasn't your fault. Beriska will most likely just be happy you're still alive." She turned a corner. "And I'm going to make sure we don't have any tails."

Mika could sense no one following them through the Force, for which she was thankful. She was so glad that she hadn't lost her friends and hadn't brought the danger to the Blue Nebula. With a little luck, she might make it off Denon a free woman and could pick up the search for Kai once more. She didn't want to leave her new friends behind, but there was nothing preventing her from staying in contact with them, and once this was over, who knew? If they were still there, maybe she would come back and buy them out of servitude from Beriska.


	10. Chapter 10

I hear that there was some confusion as I jumped a year ahead...Chapter One was a teaser, people, and was only meant to establish some vague concepts and unease around that Twi'lek woman, and her organization. Also, please keep in mind that this is all a rough draft. I have a terrible writer's habit of going back and editing the work while still writing rather than try to write it through and _then_ go back and edit it. So this time, I've decided to just go ahead and write it through, then go back and enact the suggestions given by you guys and girls as to editing that needs to be done. One person mentioned that I tend to be verbose as well, especially in my descriptions...I apologize, guys, but I love the background details! lol That is what makes the original Star Wars so great and gave it such a realistic feeling. But I do tone it back a little after this chapter or the next. Just bear with me, please. I appreciate everyone of you who continues through.

Plus, bonus: Those of you who like my novel (because that is what this will be) can get a free copy once I've done the final edit, though that might be a year down the road, and I will give thanks to all my fans and those who contributed feedback by name somewhere in the front of it. Let's call this "crowd-editing," or "crowd-critiquing" because I will read every piece of feedback and consider it.

* * *

Chapter Two

One year later…

Located in the seamy, twilight depths of Denon's planet-wide cityscape, in the heart of a district known by locals as the Gnaw due to its high scurrier population, the Blue Nebula Cantina was well-known in the criminal underworld as a discrete hangout for all manner of scum and villainy. It was a place where business could be conducted without fear of eavesdropping or interruption, and almost as important, the glasses in which refreshments were served were clean. Owned and operated by a Black Sun operative named Beriska, a tall, muscular Feeorin woman, the cantina was just one of countless such business-fronts owned by the criminal syndicate scattered up and down the Corellian Run.

From the outside, there was no sign it was a cantina, just a square, glazed black tile painted with an electric blue spiral galaxy above the door. Inside, however, the door was guarded by a hulking Barabel named Sala, and was shadowy and crowded with a motley assortment of rogues and scoundrels drinking and talking quietly. Illumination came from the lumi-lamps in the booths along the right wall, the soft white glow of the tops of the tables in the middle of the oblong cantina, and from the blue neon tubing above the bar along the left wall. Streamers of blue t'bac smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the smells of alcohol and unwashed bodies.

Drifting in and around the crowd were numerous serving girls of varying species, all of whom wore slave collars and rather scant outfits. One tall, statuesque togruta stood behind the bar, serving drinks to the thirsty customers. She wore a tiny leather jerkin with a low-cut front and lace-up sides that looked strained to keep covered her considerable assets, which she flaunted outrageously as she leaned over the bar to flirt with the patrons.

_Schutta_, Mika thought disdainfully, shaking her head at Danya Kotaro's shameless behavior. Given a choice, she would never wear the white one-piece body stocking that hugged her own slender form. Its fabric was nearly sheer, and it was open on the sides from under her arms down to the garment's thigh-cuffs, and in the front, a deep V dipped well below her navel, showing off far more blue skin than Mika was comfortable with. Danya, though, seemed to relish the attention from the drunken, leering _abos_ that patronized the Blue Nebula.

Scowling, she flicked her lekku at the togruta dismissively, then loaded the three mugs of beer onto her tray and headed to the table with a trio of balosars already in their cups.

A pair of humans grinned at her as she glided past, not bothering to hide their leers.

Her face grew hot as she studiously ignored them—stang, she hated working in the bar area. She'd insisted on outfits which covered her back, though, and thankfully, Beriska had agreed to her wishes—no need to flaunt _that_ disaster; she would die of embarrassment if she had to come out with her back exposed. It was an ugly reminder of a past that she was doing her best to forget about.

The balosars were laughing about something as she came over; probably me, she thought self-consciously. They smelled of machine grease and starship fuel, but it was a sure bet that they weren't mechanics—she'd yet to meet a balosar who did an honest day's work. Judging by the bulges of hold-out blasters in their jacket pockets, they were probably thieves or smugglers, though in this cantina, such professions weren't mutually exclusive.

"Here's your drinks," she said, setting the mugs down. "Six credits."

The balosar on her left grinned and tossed a ten-credit note on the tray. "Stay 'n keep us company, and there's more for ya," he said drunkenly.

She tucked the ten-credit note under her _chan'dar,_ or headdress. "No, thanks."

"Aw, c'mon," the balosar on her right said. "Nothin' wrong wi' a pretty girl in yer lap!" He reached to grab her, but she stepped sideways.

"Keep your kiffing hands to yourself!" she snapped, her anger bubbling up to the surface. She started to turn away and jumped with a yelp as the balosar on her left slid a hand through the side opening of her body stocking, grabbing her backside and pulling her towards him.

All three of them laughed uproariously.

Mika, however, felt her face burn as tears welled up in humiliation. Then, rage took over. Snarling, she grabbed one of the balosar's antenna-palps and twisted, making him cry out in pain.

"Ow, you—" he began to howl.

"Shut up!" she hissed, squeezing the antenna. "Take your hand off my ass before I rip _this_ off and feed it to you!" She yanked once for good measure.

The balosar, eyes squinted in agony, withdrew his hand.

Through her tears, she could see Danya at the bar, looking at her and shaking her head. Several other patrons were watching, too, adding to the embarrassment. "You kiffing lizard!" she spat, shoving his head away and stalking off. The sound of the other two balosars laughing and making snide comments followed her, only adding to her sense of humiliation.

She stormed into the employee's refresher unit, locking herself into one of the stalls, then sat on the lid of the commode and covered her face. There, she wept silently. That filthy rycrit! she raged, wanting to shred that blasted balosar like she should've shredded that zabrak so long ago. They had brought back all those horrible memories, especially the memory of feeling unclean for so long.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away as fast as she could, both ashamed of, and angry at, herself. She hated the feeling of being weak and powerless. She'd been with Beriska for a year and had no friends, no one she dared trust. If they knew what she really was, they would hate her just as much as she hated them, so she had no one to talk to and relieve the awful loneliness and fear.

Just then, the door to the refresher opened, and Mika lifted her feet off the floor and held her breath as someone walked in. Please, don't let it be the balosars, she prayed silently, feeling her panic rising.

"Mika?" a familiar voice asked.

She exhaled wearily and set her feet on the floor. "Go away, Danya."

"Beriska wanted to know if you're okay," she said. "You've got to learn to handle those situations better."

Her eyes bulged in rage. "Me?" she snarled. "Get out, you bantha!" She punched the stall door, shaking the walls that it was attached to. How dare she try to pin that on her!

"Whatever," scoffed Danya, quickly leaving.

She screamed and punched the door again for good measure, then cried out softly at the pain in her fist. She just wanted to slap that stupid togruta! The only reason she was working behind the bar, safe from the customers and their roving hands was because of her impressive chest. Put her out among the patrons and let's see how long she goes without getting groped!

Taking several deep breaths, she sought the center of calm within as she'd been taught. She unclenched her fists and wiped away the tears. Even with having to deal with _sleemo_ customers, she was still better off with Beriska, who didn't beat her or humiliate her, or try to break her as others had. She had her own bed, not some filthy, lice-ridden mat in a dark corner; she could bathe whenever she wanted, and had clean clothes; and she was well-fed on real food, not scurrier-on-a-stick or something equally repulsive. Plus, she was paid a modest salary, and was given a modicum of freedom to go out and do as she liked on her free time. It was far better than things could've turned out, or how things had once been.

She looked at the six, five-centimeter long scars in a row on the inside of her left forearm. One of the scars was still scabbed over. She was half-tempted to add a new one, or deepen an old one, but she didn't have her knife with her. Looking at them, she could feel the heaviness settle over her shoulders again. Unlike the ruined mess that was her back, these scars were made by her choice, not forced upon her, a pain delicious and terrible at the same time because the temptation was always there to keep going deeper, to feel that pain just a little keener. When the dark crimson would well up and her arm throbbed with a high, thin, thrumming note of aching pain, it was a reminder of all that she'd endured, and she was still alive despite it all.

Beriska had found out about the scars early on from Isara, a small human woman with short, spiky blonde hair who worked nights displaying her chest for the customers to leer at. Mika had wanted to bash her head in when she'd found out that Isara had been the one to snitch on her. Beriska had been furious, and threatened to bear her if she caught her cutting her arms again. So Mika had stopped, but the drive to feel that cleansing pain was getting strong again.

She would train tonight, she decided. She'd push herself hard, and if she did well, she'd reward herself with the knife. She'd bleed for the ones she'd lost, the ones she'd loved and had vowed to one day find again—her parents, her sister—the ones she'd give anything to see again.

She listened to make sure no one else was in the refresher, then unlocked the stall and went over to the sink. She rinsed her face with warm water, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her dark eyes were red from crying, though since she never wore makeup, she never had to worry about it running.

She examined her hand, and it was a little swollen, but luckily, nothing too bad. It didn't hurt to move the fingers, so she ran it under some cold water until she couldn't take it anymore, then dried off and exited the refresher.

As she made her way through the kitchen to pour herself some cold gizer ale, she could hear the jukebox blaring out "The Corellian Boogie." At least it wasn't "Dance of the Barefoot Twi'lek." If she had to listen to that stupid song one more kiffing time—

"There you are," Beriska said, stepping out of the hallway to her office. "What were you doing in there?"

"Using the facilities, or isn't that allowed?"

"Don't crack wise with me, girl. I'm concerned, and you should be thankful that someone is."

Mika was about to continue on past Beriska, but then Danya stepped out from behind the feeorin. The togruta looked at Mika as if she were a feral animal. She sidled by and glanced at Mika's arms, and sighed.

Instantly, Mika's rage exploded; she knew that Danya had snitched her out. "You kiffing _schutta!"_ she snarled, lunging at the togruta with a speed that surprised even Beriska.

Beriska, however, was faster still, and snatched her up in a bear-hug before she could get to the frightened Danya. She spun Mika around, putting her against the wall to pin her, but Mika fought like a Corellian sand panther, trying to kick free and managing to knock some pans off of a metal rack which clanged loudly on the floor.

"I'll kill you," Mika screamed. "You fat nerf! You scurrier! You—"

"Enough!" Beriska shouted. "Stop it! Hey! Knock it off, Mika!"

She almost managed to twist free, and shouted, "Don't even look at me anymore, you filthy rycrit!"

Danya fled around a corner.

"Knock it off, girl! Stop it!" Beriska grabbed her by the collar and slapped her.

Shocked, Mika sagged and held the side of her face as tears welled up. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of letting someone see her cry, especially Beriska.

"What in the flaming void has gotten into you, girl?" She grabbed Mika's arm and pushed her into the office, then closed the door behind her. "Sit down!"

Mika sat on the soft, bantha-leather couch as told, and angrily wiped away the tears. The office had always been a place she'd enjoyed visiting, with its large aquarium behind Beriska's desk filled with an amazing variety of colorful fish, and the soothing, muted earth colors of the walls. Now, though, she just wanted to run away. Worse, the fear of consequence grew in her and she began wondering if Beriska was going to sell her off to be someone else's problem.

Beriska leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms, focusing her glare on Mika. "What am I going to do with you? What _should_ I do with you?"

She just looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as the fear gnawed at her. She'd learned long ago that when your owner was deciding your fate, it was better to make yourself as small as possible.

"Let me see your arm."

She darted a glance at Beriska, but said nothing.

The feeorin sighed and grabbed her arm, but not too roughly, and inspected the scars. "I meant what I said, too. If I find fresh scars on your arm, I _will_ take you over my knee."

"I'm not a child," she finally said, her voice sullen.

"No, but you act like it sometimes." She released her arm. "And when you do, I'm going to treat you like one."

"I haven't done anything, no matter what that lying _schutta_ says."

"That's enough!" the older woman snapped suddenly. "I'll not have you running around calling her a whore. She is no such thing, and is probably the best friend you could have in here, if you'd only give her a chance." She leaned back against the desk and crossed her arms once more, though her glare had softened.

She'd hated Danya even before this. The togruta was about forty-five centimeters taller than her, and was always talking down to her. "Whatever she said was a lie."

Beriska scoffed. "What, that you were in the refresher, punching the stall because some _sleemos_ groped you? Don't give me that look, either, because that's exactly what she said."  
"Why are you covering for her?" she said. "I know she came running in here to tattle like a little girl." She jumped when Beriska slapped the desk with an open hand.

"Don't insinuate that I'm lying to you! So help me, girl, you're this close to getting it! For your information, Danya came in here to tell me that those balosars were a little too free with their hands, and that when you ran into the refresher, she went after you to see if you were okay, and you became violent." She grabbed Mika's arm again. "She didn't say anything about these. I asked because for some inexplicable reason, I actually _like_ you, though the Divine knows that you don't make it easy!"

Mika glowered down at the floor. She found it hard to believe that the togruta wouldn't snitch her out, just like Isara had done.

Aasha, a younger, green-skinned twi'lek slave, knocked on the door and poked her head into the office. "Um, Beriska? We need to replace the kegs on a couple of the taps." She darted a glance at Mika, who shot her a hateful glare.

"Then, have Sala help you."

"Sure thing." She closed the door.

She sat next to Mika and wrapped an arm around her. "Look, Mika, I don't know much about you because you won't talk about your past."

Mika stiffened.

"Relax, will you? Your secrets are your own. I'm only saying that eventually, you're going to have trust someone. You've been here a year, and you've yet to make a single friend."

"Friends are overrated," she muttered.

She chuckled. "Sometimes they are a pain in the rump, but just remember that Danya and the others aren't your enemies. I don't want to hear about you fighting with them anymore, especially Isara of Danya. Izzie doesn't need another black eye."

Mika laughed scornfully. "She should've kept her mouth shut." She would've done more than blacken Isara's eye if she hadn't run away.

"No, she shouldn't have!" she said angrily. "I don't want you scarring yourself. I mean it, Mika. Do we have an understanding?" She lifted Mika's chin with a finger to look her in the eye. "Well?"

She met the feeorin's care-worn eyes and sighed. "Fine, but I still don't like 'em."

"If you gave Danya half a chance, you might change your mind."

"Never."

It was Beriska's turn to sigh. "It's the end of your shift, so go upstairs and relax." She stood up and opened the office door.

"Can I go out for a while?"

"Go on," she said, nodding towards the door and turning her attention to the stack of flimsiplast on her desk.

Mika went upstairs using the back staircase. She knew exactly where she wanted to go, but she wanted to shower first and dress in something a little more appropriate for what she had in mind—dark colors so that she'd blend into the shadows of the city nightlife.

On the second floor were a series of rooms arranged around a circular central room with a holoprojector at its center. Around the holoprojector were several couches and overstuffed chairs, and there were several girls lounging in them, including Aasha. They all quieted as Mika came in—she hated that. She knew they'd been talking about her by the guilty looks on their faces. She ignored them and walked around the periphery of the room, past a billiards table, and through a door to the dorm, flicking her lekku in a rude gesture as she exited the room. _Schuttas_, she thought bitterly.

Their dorm was long and narrow, with a large refresher room at the far end and a bank of high, curtained windows on one side that admitted the wan gray light of the fading day. Two rows of bunk beds ran down the length of the room, each with a double locker at their feet. Several girls were asleep, snoring softly and trying to catch up on slumber on their off days. Mika's bunk was the one in the corner near the refresher room door.

As Mika prepared her things to go shower, Danya came out, a towel wrapped around her. She froze when she saw Mika, who studiously ignored her. The togruta hurried to her bunk several beds down.

She shot a glare at Danya's naked orange back as the woman dried off, then dismissed her and donned her robe before shrugging out of her body stocking. No need to put _her_ backside on display and invite ridicule. It would only give those catty nerfs more to talk about.

After luxuriating in the sani-steam, she dressed in an outfit consisting of a plum-colored durasilk shirt; tight, black durafiber pants; a clean but worn pair of sneakers; a black leather jacket she'd picked up in a thrift store; and a soft, brown leather _chan'dar_ to hold her long and shaperly lekku in place.

Checking to make sure no one was watching, she reached under the frame of the bunk where she had a vibro-knife with a fifteen centimeter blade in a leather sheath taped to the underside. She tucked the blade into the back of her pants; she never went anywhere without it. Weapons were prohibited by Beriska, but Mika had lived on the streets of Nar Shadda, and knew better than to go unarmed in the Gnaw, especially at night.

Outside the cantina, night had fallen, and the Gnaw was lit up with street lights and gaudy neon signs advertising all manner of diversions meant to appeal to the senses, from cheap booze to live shows featuring exotic dancing girls. Airspeeders whisked past above and below the level of the sidewalk, just beyond its edge. A good number of pedestrians were out and about, some walking like her, others that had stopped to talk or window shop. The air was chill and reeked of airspeeder exhaust and fried food from the greasy spoon diner up the block. Worst was the constant dampness that was ever present, adding the aroma of wet pavement to the mélange of city smells.

Mika walked past numerous hawkers selling everything from fake expensive chronometers to burn-out credit chits. Anyone fool enough to use them deserved to get busted by the Imperials, she thought, looking at the shoddy fakes. She moved on, blending into the crowd again and leaving the Blue Nebula behind. Her collar barely raised an eyebrow as slaves were common enough this far down, though in the higher levels, the Imperials had banned the practice. At least, where humans were concerned; aliens they didn't give a flying nerf about.

She stopped at a street vendor selling roast bantha sandwiches, her stomach growling in anticipation. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it wasn't good to train on an empty stomach. Plus, the smells were mouth-watering. "How much?" she asked the besalisk vendor in accented Basic.

"Two credits," he rumbled. Two of his hands were busy preparing extra sandwiches and setting them aside while the other two wiped themselves on a towel. "Three for five."

"Deal." She pulled out a bill-fold from her pants-pocket and handed him a five-credit note.

"Good bantha," the vendor said amiably. Besalisks loved to chit-chat. "I've got a connection with an importer top-side." While he tucked the money away with one hand, the other three went to work bagging up three sandwiches in a white paper sack for her, along with a wad of napkins.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the bag and moving on. She doubted that the besalisk had any such connection top-side, or even anywhere near the upper reaches of Denon's cityscape. The higher one went, the more affluent the neighborhoods became. Still, the sandwiches smelled tantalizing, and while she didn't like spending her hard-earned money as she rarely got tips, she hadn't wanted to hang out to eat in the cantina's kitchen where she would undoubtedly run into Isara, who was working the night shift.

She ducked down an alley and climbed a fire escape, sitting on the stairs and remaining motionless for several long moments, watching to make sure there was no one around. Old habits die hard, and she didn't like eating where other people could find her. Back in the depths of Nar Shadda, the Smuggler's Moon, she'd lived as a teenager in a disused storm drain and learned to hide her food when she ate so other vagrants wouldn't try to steal it or take it by force.

The sandwiches were indeed delicious, and the bantha surprisingly high-quality. She made a mental note to visit that besalisk again as she licked the juice from her fingers. Much better than the scurrier kabobs she'd steal from a toydarian who lived two storm drains over. She tore into the second sandwich and grinned as the juice ran down her chin. She was glad the besalisk had included napkins. The short order chefs hired by Beriska had nothing on these sandwiches.

She froze. Something had rattled below her, a can, maybe. She slowly glanced down and squinted. A grubby human girl came into view, dressed in rags, unaware that she was being observed. She looked around cautiously, then lifted the lid off a dumpster and poked around inside.

How often had that been her? Mika thought to herself. It was all too easy to remember how she'd done the same, half-crazed with hunger and paranoid of any sudden noise. Shaking her head, she hissed.

The girl's head shot up instantly, quickly gazing around for a threat.

"Hey, you hungry?"

The girl looked up at her, fear in her eyes.

"Here. It's a sandwich." She held up the wrapped food, then tossed it down to the girl, who snatched it and bolted. Sighing in contentment and feeling pleasantly full, she stood up and tossed the bag into the dumpster, then climbed off the fire escape. Moments later, she was just another face in the crowd.

The air had continued to grow cooler, so she turned her collar up and put her hands in her pockets. At a corner, she took the stairs down two levels, then crossed the sky bridge to another block and hurried on. She hoped no one had been in her spot—squatters were almost as numerous as the scurries that gave the Gnaw its name. Her gear was well-hidden, or the important stuff was, at least, but she still worried.

She suddenly felt like she was being watched and darted a quick glance behind her. It wasn't impossible that some would-be stick-up artists might try to bother her, but most would see the collar and think twice. Most slaves down in the Gnaw were owned by Black Sun, directly or indirectly, and taking what belonged to Black Sun was a good way to wind up missing.

Mika didn't see anyone who looked like they might be following her, though the feeling persisted. She changed her route to the warehouse, taking a twisting, turning path until she was sure no one was following her, then continued on.

The warehouse was built into the side of one of the massive buildings that comprised the majority of the structures on Denon. She'd found the place while wandering around one night not long ago after Beriska had purchased her from Drafulla the Hutt, and had been coming here once or twice a week ever since.

On a darkened street, she quickly darted into the inky shadows of a narrow alley, her sensitive eyes adjusting and mitigating the darkness. The alley was little-used, which suited her just fine, and branched off into a small cul-de-sac barricaded with a rusty cyclone fence. She avoided stepping in several oily puddles and hopped the fence, landing nimbly on the other side.

The entrance to the warehouse was a sliding door that she'd recently fitted with a new chain and shielded lock the size of her fist. She pulled out a code cylinder and opened the lock, then removed the chain and went inside, closing the door behind her. It was pitch black inside so she dropped the chain and pulled out a small glowrod.

There was no electricity to the warehouse, but she didn't need it, having long ago searched out and memorized its dimensions. It was approximately fifteen meters wide, thirty long, and twenty high, with a large office complex off to the right along the side. Dozens of empty crates a meter on a side had been left behind and were thickly coated with dust and grime; it had been many years since anyone had been in here but her.

The place just smelled old, like old machinery and dust, and in the distance, she could hear the whoosh of airspeeders, and a siren from the police. Its silence seemed reverential somehow, and as she crept along towards the office off to the side, her footsteps, which she knew were almost imperceptibly quiet, seemed to thunder in the vast darkness. She couldn't help but jump every time she scuffed her shoe on something, or some broken glass crunched a little too loud.

From what she had been able to ascertain, the warehouse had once been used as a processing facility to package droid parts, but had been abandoned decades ago, most likely right before the Clone Wars. It served her purposes well enough, and luckily, the building it was in was warmed by geothermal ducts which passed under the warehouse, keeping its interior warm.

She quietly made her way into the office structure, kicking aside one particularly bold scurrier who hissed at her. "Shut up, Danya!" she laughed in a whisper. The light from her glowrod reflected off the broken glass in the door to the office, which she gingerly pushed open, and was swallowed by the suffocating darkness. Her shoes crunched the glass shards, and she was forced to duck under a broken light fixture hanging from the ceiling by a single wire. She'd left it hanging there to alert her if someone had been in here, because if they had, the light would most likely be on the floor. There was litter everywhere, too—scurrier droppings, clouded flimsiplast that disintegrated at a touch, bits of plaster and broken ceiling tiles, and rusted furniture.

At the end of the narrow hallway with a door on either side was the office she wanted. Inside was more debris, along with a battered metal desk and a couple of chairs. She picked one up after putting the glowrod in her mouth, and set it against the wall under an air duct, then hopped up on the chair and lifted the grate to reach inside. Finding what she was looking for, she then quickly went back into the main part of the warehouse—she hated the claustrophobic darkness of the offices, but it was the best hiding place for her secret treasure, the contraband that risked her life.

Most of the crates had been stacked two and three high by her in the middle of the warehouse floor, forming a ring approximately ten meters across. In the center of it was a smaller crate with a fusion lantern sitting on top. She flicked this on, and a few seconds later, the ring area was lit up. From outside the ring, she knew, there would be only a faint glow to be seen above the tops of the crates.

Inside the crate the lantern sat on were a few supplies—several days of old gleb-rations, a medical kit, bottled water, and some blankets and towels, along with a hold-out blaster she'd stolen from one of the patrons of the Blue Nebula. It was always good to have a back-up plan, she mused, tossing her jacket over the crate; she knew she wouldn't need it with the contraband in her hand.

A flick of her thumb brought forth the green blade of her lightsaber with a snap-hiss.

Before being enslaved a second time, she'd had a chance to spend several years with Master Cal Shara, a human former Jedi who'd studied under the Jedi Master Niko Tyris after he'd left their vaunted order. Unfortunately, their time had been cut short by the attention of the Inquisitorius, and in the ensuing melee, she'd been captured by Drafulla the Hutt, who'd quickly sold her to Beriska. She'd managed to hide the lightsaber hilt, though it was in a rather uncomfortable location, and after being sold to Beriska, retrieved it with more pain and a permanent scar a few centimeters to the right of her navel. It would be the last time she smuggled _anything_ under her skin!

It was something none of them knew about—Beriska or the other slaves; Beriska, because Mika actually cared about the feeorin and didn't want to give her any more to worry about; and those catty _schuttas_ because they didn't need anything else to fuel their disdain for her. Beriska, though, would undoubtedly go into Corellian overdrive if she ever found out that one of her slaves was a Force user with some small skill, and then who knew what would happen? Would Beriska claim the bounty on her? It was unlikely, but Mika couldn't take that chance.

No, the plan was simply to buy her freedom and move on before anyone could discover her secret because if the Inquisitorius ever tracked her down again, her options for escape were pretty limited with a slave collar around her neck; and if the others hunting her found out… She shuddered at the thought of _that_.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and launched into a series of blindingly fast combat maneuvers, the lightsaber humming as it flashed this way and that. Thrust flowed into slash, slash into block, and block into feint. She back-flipped off of a crate at the periphery of the ring, spinning the lightsaber behind her as she landed and blocking high, then spin-slashing into a downward-angled sweep.

Cal Shara had called the style _Ataru_, and said it was an ancient lightsaber form that the Jedi had used for millennia to train their _padawans_, or apprentices. She'd assured Mika, though, that in the hands of someone who'd mastered the form, it could be one of the most deadly styles. Mika, however, found herself drawn to its simplicity and economy of movement—no motion was wasted, and every attack could easily be turned into a defense.

For her, it was a meditation, and with the blade in her hand and the Force flowing through her, she felt more relaxed and less vulnerable. She could forget about the cantina and all of its troubles for a little while. She'd found that becoming proficient in lightsaber combat had come to her far more easily than learning to control the flow of the Force to do other things.

She feared this was because anger came to her so easily, and Cal Shara had warned her that such ease could lead to the Dark Side. The few times she had actually called on the Force, it had been involuntary and had resulted in explosive force being directed at someone, with shattering results. She'd become a little better at it in her time with Cal Shara, but she much preferred using her lightsaber to deal with problems, or avoiding them all together.

A light sheen of sweat formed on her skin as she pushed herself harder and harder. Her focus narrowed until there was only the hum of the lightsaber and its green blade flashing, making the shadows waver drunkenly. Her muscles began to ache, but she pushed through it. The rhythm of movement, the pattern of motion, and her steady breathing all heightened the meditation. Her movements blurred from speed, and all her thrusts and blocks and slashes were flawless.

"Mika?"

Her heart seized in terror as she startled and spun, landing in a crouched stance, lightsaber held in a defensive block. Her eyes widened in as she saw who the voice belonged to.

"Mika?" Beriska asked again, fear in her eyes as well as she stepped cautiously between two crates and into the circle of light on the other side of the ring.

Mika suddenly felt trapped and very much afraid.


	11. Chapter 11

Well, here it is, Chapter Eleven. I'm not really happy with how it ends, as it has a feeling to it like it sort of fizzled out. Not my intention, but there was information that needed to be conveyed. This was also a harder chapter to write.

DISCLAIMER: This chapter deals with drug use, and may not be suitable for children. Viewer discretion advised. I tried not to glorify the drug use in any way at all, but this is a character with demons, and I couldn't keep dancing around the issues she faces. Nor did I want to shy away from the topic because to do so would be to insult you, the readers by offering pap instead of meat, and would be a disservice to the character because she must know the depths of despair before she can appreciate the heights of redemption.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

She locked the door to her quarters and turned, then stopped, eyes widening in shock.

Sitting on her kaf table was a cardboard box sealed with meshtape. The box was for powdered milk packets, but she doubted that's what it contained. On top of the box was a white card, but she couldn't read it from the doorway, and she didn't want to get any closer.

Where had that box come from? It couldn't have been Nilas; if he'd wanted to give her something, he would have just done so. Then, fear tingled down her back as she worried that whoever had put the box in her room might have found her stash in the air duct above her closet. A quick check revealed it was still there, much to her relief. That still left the question of who had left the box for her.

She had no contacts from the Imperial Intelligence community aboard the ship; her supply of ryll kor came from random pickups when the _Fury_ stopped at a planet, or when a shuttle would show up, ostensibly to drop off personnel or equipment, but was really dropping off a fresh supply. If there was an ISB agent aboard as Nilas thought, she doubted he or she would know of her or her mission; the Intelligence community was very compartmentalized so that there was always plausible deniability.

Who else had access codes to her quarters? It would have to have been someone in the senior command. Only they would have the security override codes. She stared at the box from her sleeping quarters as though looking at a poisonous serpent. She was frozen in indecision, fear running its icy fingers up and down her spine.

Chewing her lower lip, she finally forced herself to approach the box and snatched the card off the top.

_With compliments, Commander_. _–M.V._

"Em Vee? Who in—" she started to say, and then her eyes widened in anger. "Valens!" How _dare_ that stupid _abo!_ she fumed. "I'm going to box his ears bloody!" What in Palpatine's name had he been thinking? The box undoubtedly contained contraband of one variety or another, but the more important question was, how in blazes had he accessed this deck, let alone her quarters? An ensign's code cylinder would be incapable of accessing this level, which was coded for senior officers.

It was insubordination, she thought angrily, balling up the card and throwing it at the garbage chute, missing. He was going to hear from her at length about this security breach. What if he'd seen the framed banner above her bed? It showed almost the same emblem as was tattooed on her left shoulder blade, and was an actual relic from the Clone Wars. That's all she'd need—him seeing that and recognizing her from the shower room back on Bilbringi. Fool man!

She closed her eyes and swayed; the _heat_ needed to be dealt with first. She started towards her sleeping quarters, then glanced back at the box and stopped. "Nerf plop," she growled. She really should deal with the contraband first, but glanced longingly towards the air duct above her closet. She chewed her lip; maybe she could just do a little, then—no! That would only make things worse because then she'd want to do just a little more, then a little more, and soon, her whole supply would be gone.

She took a deep breath and tossed her robe on her bed. She knew she'd better deal with the contraband now. "Stupid _abo_," she growled, furious with Valens for pulling a stunt like this. Nilas had already had her quarters secretly searched at least once. She knew only because she'd used some spit to stick a single hair to closet door, and when she'd returned, the hair was gone.

She wiped her hands on the towel and sat on the couch in front of the box. The _heat_ was making her sweat, so she needed to hurry; with that in mind, she tore open the top of the box. If it was alcohol, she decided, tossing the meshtape in the garbage chute, she was going to hide it right out in the open, on the shelf under the viewscreen, right next to the clear plastoid carafe of water and set of five tumblers.

Inside the box was indeed alcohol—two bottles of liquor, to be exact. One was a tall, round bottle of Dorian Quill, an expensive, amber-colored brandy that was aged for twelve years. The other was a squat trapezoidal bottle of abrax, an even more expensive aquamarine cognac. Attached to the bottle was another note: "Now, you can invite me up for a proper drink."

"Idiot," she grumbled, crumpling the note. The abrax alone probably cost more than she made in a pay period; she didn't even want to _think_ about where Valens could've nicked it from. One thing she did know, though, was one didn't give a gift like that without expecting something in return, and she hated feeling obligated. She set the bottles on the table.

Next came a small humidor containing twenty-five cigars from Delaya, Alderaan's sister-planet known for its high-quality t'bac. She set that on the end table next to the couch. There was also a red velvet-lined greel-wood box inlaid with gold writing that said, OUTLANDER CLUB on the top of it. Inside was a brand new desk of sabacc cards featuring images of the various types of Clone Troopers and battle droids, along with four rows of multi-colored chips of various denominations.

This gift actually made her smile. Seeing the Clone Troopers brought back pleasant memories of growing up after the Clone Wars. It wasn't going to get Valens off the hook by any means, she decided, setting the box on the corner of the kaf table. She was still going to box his ears. Well, maybe she would just give him a long lecture on fraternizing with his superiors.

At the bottom of the box, she found a new issue of the thick magazine, _Star Girl Quarterly_, and she felt a blush spreading across her face and neck as she examined the cover. "Little Nahno Picks This Season's Smashball Champions!" it announced across the top. Below the banner was an image of the kaf and cream-skinned Twi'lek smiling back over her should at the imager with her arms resting on her head and her slender posterior thrust out.

"I'll bet she does," she laughed. Of course, Valens _would_ send her something like this—as far as he knew, she was a red-blooded male Imperial officer. Shaking her head, she flipped through the magazine, the pleasant scent of the cologne ads wafting up. In addition to Nahno's photo spread and centerfold, there was the usual selection of pictorials of half-dressed or fully naked women of various humanoid and near-human species, plus articles on beer, hologames, and new airspeeders with ridiculously overpowered engines. It seemed men's fantasies were all the same regardless of their species.

She tossed the magazine down on the kaf table and stood up. Let Nilas make of it what he would, she decided. She tossed the empty box in the garbage chute and put the bottles of liquor on the she shelf, then padded into her sleeping quarters. If Nilas asked, she'd tell him she was trying to blend in with the other crewmen.

She peeled off her sweaty clothing and stood naked under the air duct, letting the cool air wash over and dry the sweat on her skin. She folded her arms on top of her head and closed her eyes; the cool air felt so good, she almost didn't want to move.

Finally, though, she stood on tiptoes and removed the louvered cover of the air duct, then reached inside. Carefully, she pulled out a small, leather valise, then walked into the refresher. The _heat_ was burning hotter and hotter, now.

The refresher opened to the left and was about five meters long and two wide. Looking lengthwise into the room, a long counter with a wide mirror above it was along the right wall, and the head was in the far right corner. Built into the left wall were shelves containing towels, linens, and various hygienic products, and in the left corner was the sani-steam enclosed by clear glass doors. To the immediate right of the entrance was a full-length mirror that she rarely used; she hated her reflection.

Much of her self-loathing came from how much weight she'd lost from the ryll kor, but that was only a part of it. She couldn't see her reflection without seeing what a failure she was. Her long dark hair was gone; only a centimeter or two remained, making her ears look as if they were sticking out and angles of her face seem sharper and gaunter. Dark, haunted eyes looked out from under thick, dark eyebrows, and shadows pooled under the lids, making them look sunken. Beneath her small breasts, she could count ribs, and just below her right shoulder, on the side of the bicep, was a jagged, five centimeter-long scar from her childhood, received during the Separatist occupation of her homeworld of Ywallndr.

Worst of all, though, were the ugly, yellowish bruises in the creases of her groin—the sites of the ryll kor injections—constantly reminding her of what she was.

Frowning, she turned and looked over her shoulder at her sore backside. Her skin was pallid and had an unhealthy translucence so the red imprints left by Nilas showed very clearly and were tender to the touch. "Kiffing _abo_," she muttered. It wasn't like she had much fat back there to soften the blows.

She set the valise on the counter and her eyes went to the rainbow sparkle from her pea-sized heart-of-fire gem hanging between her breasts by a very fine aurodium necklace. She stopped to stare at it as it threw prismatic dots of light across her sweat-damp skin and the Imperial tags hanging on a chain above it.

"Brann," she whispered, touching the gem with the tips of her fingers as a tear rolled down her cheek. It was startling how easily the memories came flooding back to her, and how vivd they were. She could still smell the scents of fried bread dough and spun sugar drifting through the night-time air at the Harvest Fair where she'd bought the gem. She could still hear the excited screams of children running down the fairway between the large starships of the off-world merchants who came to visit on their annual migration through the Ywllandr system.

Ywllandr was a backrocket planet in the New Territories with only infrequent contact with the rest of the galaxy. Much of the arable colony lands were dedicated to agriculture and livestock. Her family lived in a village named Minami and raised nerfs and small, goat-like creatures called _toosa_. Brann had been her only sibling, and they'd shared a special bond as twins. He'd been her best friend and constant playmate, and she'd decided to do something special for their lifeday the year before the Separatists invaded.

Once a year in a large, empty field about a half-kilometer from her village, the townspeople would host an annual Harvest Fair, and for an entire weekend, all the village people would gather to celebrate. There'd be music and dancing, contests and scavenger hunts, and of course, lots of food and drink.

Most importantly, however, were the arrival of the De'Shi, a rag-tag assortment of nomadic merchants and scholars of a wide variety of races and backgrounds. They were avowed pacifists, and would travel the stars in their _Dreadnaught_-class heavy cruisers which they converted into floating bazaars. They would often travel to worlds of sometimes dubious-archaeological value to sift or relics to sell to fund their travels, and it seemed they always had something interesting for sale, even I it was only information.

Many worlds closer to the Core considered the De'Shi something of a nuisance because they were viewed as nothing more than vagabonds and thieves, though this reputation was largely unjustified. It was also a common refrain among children upset with their parents that they were going to run away and join the De'Shi.

To worlds in the Outer Rim, though, they were a godsend because they would bring newer technology to sell, and news about the rest of the galaxy that could be had for the cost of a warm meal and a cold beer. So when the De'Shi arrived on Ywllandr, hundreds of people from surrounding villages would flock to Minami to purchase new farm equipment, droids, seed capsules, tools, foodstuffs, medical supplies, weapons, clothing, and more.

All that Spring and summer, she'd saved every deci-cred she'd earned doing chores for not only her family, but anyone else that needed help, and when the De'Shi arrived, she walked the fairway for hours between the large transports, looking at the wares and merchandise for something special. It wasn't until the last night that she met the Kiffar who used a simple feat of conjuration to produce the gem seemingly out of thin air.

As it spun and twisted in front of her, the gem caught the firelight from nearby cookfires and refracted it into dozens of multi-colored starbursts. He told her what it was, explaining that his people believed the heart-of-fire gems, when given to someone you loved, carried a little piece of your spirit so that the person would always have you with them.

Being only eight at the time, she began to cry because she knew that she had found the perfect gift, but couldn't possibly afford something so extraordinary. Laughing, the Kiffar took half of the hundred or so credits she'd saved and gave her the gem, thanking her for helping him to, "restore the balance," or something. Then, he pronounced the De'Shi blessing over her:

"May the paths of your life be guided by the cosmos, and may you shine like the stars."

Only much later did she learn that the gem was worth many times what she'd paid. Brann got his gift, though, and wore it every day for the rest of his life. She'd told him that as long as he wore it, she'd always be there to protect him and watch over him.

She blinked back tears and opened the leather valise. She hadn't been able to protect him—stang, she hadn't even been able to protect herself. She'd made a mess of her life, and the Empire would never let her go, she thought bitterly as she drew her poison into the syringe. She would never be anything other than an expendable asset that could be quietly removed if she proved troublesome.

Sniffing and wiping away tears, she drew a little more into the syringe—0.3cc rather than 0.25. She wanted to make sure she was well and truly dusted so she could rid herself for a little while of all the guilt and pain. She turned, forcing herself to watch her reflection in the full-length mirror as she squatted slightly and reached between her legs to feel for the pulse on the right side of her groin. Finding one, she placed the needle and let it rest on the surface of the skin, focusing all of her hatred and rage on the reflection as she pushed it in.

She threw her head back and gasped as the ryll kor flooded through her. She fell to her knees, quickly pulling the needle free with hands that were fast becoming lame, and awkwardly setting it on the counter as the rush hit her like a tidal wave. She fell back with her legs folded underneath her as it felt like gravity had suddenly shifted ninety-degrees. She stared up unseeing at the ceiling as the wave washed over her.

The golden glow exploded inside of her and seared her from the inside out as the _heat_ blistered her skin and made sweat run like water. She could only lay there gasping and moaning in ecstasy so sharp it was painful. Waves of spine-tingling pleasure rolled up and down her limbs, and her body felt like it was resonating with deafening but soundless vibrations.

Though no more than fifteen or twenty minutes had passed, it felt like hours, and as she came back to her senses, she found herself curled in a fetal position, shivering at the cold sweat left on her skin, much of which puddled around her on the deck. Her limbs felt like rubber, and she could hardly move. Her breath was ragged and came in pants as she gasped for air.

The high itself made her feel like she was going to fly right up out of the ship, and she giggled and laughed until tears came out of her eyes at the thought of floating up past the bridge window, naked as the day she was born. Wouldn't Valens be surprised! She tried not to laugh—what if Nilas heard her and came in? He'd find her laying on the floor without any clothes on, soaked in sweat. She laughed even harder until her sides hurt.

Finally, though, she regained some control over her surging emotions and rolled over stiffly to climb to her knees, then stand. Everything felt as if it was in slow motion and she were standing on pillows. Her hypersensitive skin tingled sharply as the air current dried her skin, stirring every hair and activating every nerve ending.

She tuned out the echoes and cleaned the floor, then put her ryll kor away and went to the sani-steam, setting the pressure for the lowest setting. Even still, the water pressure made her knees buckle though it was no harder than a gentle rain. She gasped at the pleasure/pain of the spray as it flayed her; biting her lip, she leaned forward to keep her knees locked and quickly washed up.

Afterwards, she dressed fast and made sure to wrap her breasts tightly—the second day aboard the _Fury_ after dusting herself, she'd walked out, having completely forgotten to wrap them, but got back to her quarters without being seen. She clipped her lightsaber to her belt, made sure her code cylinders were with her, and opened the door to the living quarters.

She walked over to the kaf table where Nahno Orteka stared up at her with that freakishly cute, dimpled smile. She tore a cologne ad out and tossed the magazine down, then rubbed the woodsy, musk-scented ad on her uniform. Disposing of the ad, she headed out; it was time to go to the Vista Lounge and get lunch.

As she exited the superstructure's primary turbolift, Valens stepped up next to her, waling alongside her in lockstep. "Good morning, Commander," he said. "I was just on my way to the Vista Lounge for lunch." His thoughts echoed in her head. _I wonder if he liked my care package,_ he laughed to himself. _I bet he'll never guess how I got in._

Hearing his thoughts while trying to act as though she didn't felt awkward, especially as she was sorely tempted to smack that insouciant grin right off his face. At least he hadn't seen the Clone Commando flag, or if he had, he hadn't yet put two and two together. "Good morning, Ensign," she replied neutrally. "I trust your morning was productive?"

"Oh, very productive, sir," he chuckled. _He'll never guess in a million years where I got those codes from._

His smugness was getting on her nerves. "I'm so pleased for you." She was so high, it was hard to concentrate.

"Smashball is going to be a good season this year," he said innocently. _Let's see how he reacts to that!_

"Oh?" she said, trying to keep the tension out of her voice. She had to remember that she was pretending to be a man—their reaction would be much different than that of a woman's. "I found the points _spread_ a little distracting," she said.

He chuckled. "Yes, that sportscaster—"

"_Former_ sportscaster."

"Yes, _former _sportscaster. She has a certain charm, doesn't she?" _Give me an hour alone with Nahno Orteka, and she'd forget all about smashball,_ he thought to himself.

It was a struggle, but she managed not to roll her eyes at his ridiculous boasts. They passed through a wide corridor with broad, floor-to-ceiling windows lining its sides; the windows on the right looked into a large chamber with a swimming pool and several hot tubs on the deck below, and window on the left looked into a large gymnasium with a wide variety of exercise equipment and free weights being used by numerous out-of-uniform stormtroopers.

"Have you been to the pool, yet?" he asked. "The water is nice after a long week of work."

"Um, no. Swimming is not really my thing," she lied. She loved swimming, and missed the river behind her parents' farm, but she would never be able to use the pool aboard the _Fury_ without revealing her true gender, no matter how much she wished she could've dove in.

"Really? Everyone likes swimming." _What kind of person doesn't go swimming?_ He wondered.

"Not me."

"Oh, come now, Commander. You—"

"This is not open for discussion, Ensign." They came to another set of turbolifts, and she pressed the call button.

_That was weird_, Valens was thinking. "May I ask why?"

"No." She got in the turbolift.

"Well, then, will you at least invite me up for a drink?" he asked, getting in and pressing a button. _No swimming, then. Just as long as I get a taste of that abrax. Damned thing cost me a fortune!_

The turbolift door closed and they descended.

"That would imply I _have_ something for you to drink in my quarters," she said. "Where would you have gotten an idea like that?"

_What's his game?_ "Well, uh, you know," he stammered. "I just thought that, um, the box—"

She smiled inwardly at his discomfort and exited the turbolift. "What box? Did someone perhaps try sending me, oh, I don't know, some contraband liquor?"

He laughed nervously. "I, uh, wouldn't know, sir, but surely—"

"What?" she asked, continuing down the corridor. "Surely entering my quarters without my permission, breaking security protocols, being in unassigned areas, and insubordination might be ignored? I don't know. Seems like those are pretty serious offenses."

_I knew I should've just waited!_ he cursed himself, suddenly experiencing a little fear. He followed her. "Intentions—"  
"Are worthless," she said coldly. The _abo_ had put her at risk with Nilas; he wasn't getting off the hook that easily.

They came out on the starboard side of the mag-lev platform, a large, open area with several other officers waiting along its edge. There were large openings on either side of the chamber that the rails passed through, leading to the freight tunnel that ran the length of the Star Destroyer. The _Fury_ possessed a six-line rail system, with three lines for passengers and three lines for freight. The rail cars, passenger and cargo gondola alike, could switch between any of the six rails to go around stopped cars or stop at specific platforms, all coordinated by central computers.

The passenger cars had all the bland styling of the Imperial war machine: they were basically rectangular boxes of white with tapered ends that contained windows. Inside were four black jumpseats, a pair on either end with control interfaces built into the armrests.

She pressed the call button on a column near the edge of the platform, and minutes later, her car appeared.

As the car came to a stop in front of them, Valens looked around. "I, uh, think I'll catch the next one, sir." _Maybe if I just leave him alone for a while—_

She didn't let him finish his thought. "Get in, Ensign. That's an order."

The door popped open with hiss-thunk and slid to one side.  
_Aw, poodoo,_ he thought nervously. Obediently, he got in and sat on one side. He looked a little nauseous.

She got in and sat across from him, staring at him coldly while waiting for the door to close. When it did, she entered the destination, and the car took off with a whisper hum. "Now, let's get something straight, Ensign, while we can talk without being overheard," she said, leaning forward and putting an edge in her voice. "I am your commanding officer. If you think to curry favor with me by bribing me with contraband, you are gravely mistaken."

"Sir, it's not like that—"

"I am _not_ finished!" she snapped. "Entering my quarters without my permission alone is enough to see you in the brig! This is nothing compared to entering a restricted area without proper clearance, possession of contraband, insubordination, breaking security protocols, and who knows what else!" she scoffed, shaking her head. "They would court-martial you and send you to Kessel!"

He paled, and all he thought about was trying to survive. His hands clenched the arm-rests so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"Are you scared? Good. Maybe it will drive the lesson home," she laughed cruelly. "You're choobies are mine, Valens. I _own_ you as long as you are on this ship, and if you ever pull a stunt like the again, I'll use my lightsaber to carve your heart out and have it for lunch! Do I make myself clear?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes, sir," he said weakly, debating whether it would be possible to transfer off the ship.

"And if you even think about filing for a transfer, I'll block it and ask Nilas to give me your hide for a rug!"

His eyes widened.

She sighed and sat back. "Relax, now, Valens," she said, continuing to stare at him, but not quite as intensely. "I'm not going to hang you out to dry, although you certainly deserve it for breaking into my quarters. Breathe before you pass out."

A flicker of hope rose in him as he breathed. "I'm sorry, sir."

"What, no trying to claim you have no idea what I'm talking about?"

He shrugged. "Why bother? I can't be in any more trouble than I already am."

"Got that right. What the hell were you thinking?" she asked. "I shouldn't have to tell you that Inquisitors aren't exactly a trusting lot, and Nilas is more paranoid than most! As Adjutant, I have to be just as paranoid to keep him from ascribing to my actions and interactions with the crew motives that aren't there, and what you did put me at serious risk."

"I'm _sorry_, sir," he repeated, shaking his head and leaning forward on his elbows. He looked down at his hands. _Stang! I hadn't even considered that!_ "I just—"

"Had a dangerous lapse in judgment," she finished for him. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. The vibration of the electric motor in the car made her feel like she was flying. "One which I trust will not be repeated."

"Absolutely not, sir," he agreed wholeheartedly. _If I have to be his flunky, so what? Maybe I can earn my way back into his good graces._

"Remember what I said," she warned, smiling inwardly at his hopefulness. Stang, he's a _child!_ she mused. "I own you for the duration."

"Yes, sir," he said, sitting back. _How much groveling am I going to have to do?_

"You are, of course, to remain discrete and professional in all of our public interactions, and you will tell no one of this conversation, nor discuss the nature of our new partnership." She raised an eyebrow. "Do I make myself clear?"

"As transparisteel, sir."

The railcar glided to a stop and the door popped open.

She stepped out onto the platform. "Come along, ensign," she said. "I'm not finished with you."

_Stang, this is going to be a long tour,_ he grumbled miserably as he followed her to the turbolifts.

"Don't pout. Your situation could be a lot worse," she chided, pressing the call button. "Besides, isn't this what you wanted?"

_Oh, yes, a blaster to my head to enforce servitude_, he thought bitterly. "Not exactly, sir."

"What, you though that you could just have all the benefits of being my unofficial aide-de-camp without any cost?" She scoffed, stepping into the turbolift. She pressed the button for Deck 34. "And really, what _is _the cost to you? A little more discretion? You act as though I've put some onerous burden upon you. I do expect, though, that anything I _may_ eventually want will be free." The turbolift doors closed and they ascended.

_Sounds like blackmail to me,_ he thought. _Watch his "wants" be more abrax! That liquor cost me a small fortune, and I won't even get a taste._ "Yes, sir."

Deciding that she'd let him suffer long enough, she said, "Nothing I want will be expensive or hard to come by, and if you behave appropriately, as a proper naval officer should, I _may_ invite you up to share a glass of abrax with me. _May_."

_Huh. Maybe this won't be so bad after all_. "Understood, sir."

"Good. You can begin by telling me how you not only managed to access that deck, but how you managed to break into my quarters," she said, not looking over at him. "I don't think I need to remind you what Nilas would have done if he'd have caught you."

Valens paled and his eyes widened. "No, sir!"

"I'm giving you one chance to be honest with me, Ensign."

He sighed, rising up on the balls of his feet as he looked at the ceiling, then settled back down. He shifted his gaze to the deck. "I, uh, I know a few odd maintenance codes, sir," he explained. "Droids are sort of a hobby of mine."

That was interesting to her. She made a mental note of this as she was still mulling over getting herself an MSE droid for a hobby project. "Continue, Ensign."

_Well, if he was going to throw me in the brig, I would already be there,_ he thought to himself, sighing. "I was down in one of the engineering bays the other day. I found an old R2 unit that had been scrapped, but its memory matrix was still intact. It must have been in charge of the maintenance droid pool because it still had the bypass codes in its memory."

The turbolift doors opened, revealing the corridor that lead to the Vista Lounge.

"See? That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" she asked, stepping out of the turbolift.

"So, I'm not in trouble?" he asked suspiciously, following her into the lounge.

"Not any more than you already were," she said. The view of hyperspace was amazing when she was high, and she had to actively focus to keep from zoning out on it. She felt like she was floating. "Besides, I like my aides to be resourceful and show a little initiative."

At the food prep area, she grabbed two roast bantha sandwiches and a cup of kaf and sat in the corner. Valens joined her with a bowl of stew and some bread, and a cup of kaf, too.

"I think I know what you _can_ get me."

_Here it comes,_ he thought, darting his eyes at her.

"A couple of issues of _MechTech Illustrated._ It's been awhile since I've seen them."

He smiled. "I never figured you for a gear-head, sir."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Ensign."

_Isn't that the truth?_ "Anything else?"

"Yes. Find me a scrapped MSE droid and a small heuristic processor. That will give me something to do with my free time."

"MSE droid? Why would you want one of those annoying things?" he asked, then added hastily, "Uh, sir!"

"Just get it for me."

After lunch, she headed for the bridge. Upon arrival, she could see the swirls of hyperspace through the window at the front and quickly looked away. Valens didn't so much as glance at her, though she could hear him thinking, _Don't look, don't look, don't look_, over and over.

There's the window I felt like I was going to float past, she thought and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep the gales of laughter she felt bubbling up inside of her from getting out. Her body buzz was so strong that just walking normally quickly occupied her mind, though. She went to a door on the starboards side of the bridge.

Inside was a large conference room with a large doughnut-shaped tale in the center. In the middle of the table was a large holo-tac, a holoprojector capable of combining all the sensor data from the ship's sensors into a visual form. The table could seat twelve, and each place had a control interface for the holo-tac, which was also connected to the ship's holonet transceiver.

Inquisitor Nilas sat to the left, glaring up at the image of a Moff on the holo-tac. "His failure is your responsibility, Governor," he said quietly. "I want to know who ordered him to go after her, and I want to know why. _I_ am the one in charge of that target's acquisition. Understood?"

"From what I understood, Lord Nilas, the apprentice was acting without permission. I had nothing to do with his actions, or whatever actions the Inquisitorius took or did not take here on Denon."

"Nonetheless, you are governor of Denon, and therefore, you will be held responsible. I'll not have Vader looking to me because that fugitive got away!"

The Moff was an older man with a thick white mustache and a fringe of graying hair. He appeared nervous, and his eyes held fear. "I didn't sign off on an apprehension order, my lord! I only turned over the information my informants presented to me, as is procedure. What the Inquisitorius does with that is out of my control."

"That is not how Vader will see it," Nilas said coldly. "Mark my words, Moff Laren. If she isn't still on Denon by the time I get there, I will see to your replacement! You are not to approach her at all, not even to follow her! Leave her to me!" He cut the link.

"Problems, Master?" she asked, not moving to sit down.

"An Inquisitor's apprentice went AWOL and acted outside of his orders," he growled. "He tried apprehending our quarry, and was killed for his efforts, presumably by her."

"So she's still at large?" She knew he was referring to the Twi'lek woman he was obsessed with finding.

He snorted disdainfully. "Of course! And when I find out which Inquisitor that apprentice belonged to, I'll be sure to point that out to Lord Vader. I will not hang for them!"

"How did she kill him? With a lightsaber?"

"One of the apprentice's own. And a vibroblade." He stood up and swept past her onto the bridge. _If she escapes, I'll tie Laren to the outside of my shuttle and jump to hyperspace!_

Startled that she had heard his thoughts, she followed Nilas. "We still have another two weeks before we reach Denon. Do you think she'll stay put?"

"I _know_ she will. She has nowhere to go and no one to depend on." He laughed. "Moff Laren is not the only one who has his informants. Captain!" he called. "We are to proceed to Coruscant with all haste! No more leisuely travel!"

The Captain knew that Nilas was asking him to push the hyperdrive as hard as possible. "But—the hyperdrive isn't built to be used at full-capacity for so long a period!"

"Then you better hope it's durable enough to get us to Coruscant quickly!" he snarled. "You can thank Moff Laren in person when we get to Denon for our haste!"

She sighed. It was going to be a very long trip, she knew. Nilas would be harsher than ever in his training, and she had a feeling she would be the lightning rod for his anger. She stood at ease next to Nilas and stared into the swirls of hyperspace; the high soon obliterated any worry she had.

* * *

Yes, you will find out where her scar came from, and you will eventually learn the fate of her brother, and the details therein. Patience, please. I will get you there, have no fear. Also, I hope it was clear enough that the person Mika killed was _not_ an Inquisitor, but an Inquisitor's apprentice. She is not _that _skilled with a lightsaber yet. It was a narrow thing that she escaped with her life at all.

Chapter Twelve will be soon, I promise.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Heavy alloy music played softly in the background of the main hold. Andano sat at the round game-table and sipped a mug of Corellian Blue Ale as his ship hurtled through hyperspace towards the Tasrov Cloud. He was already running behind schedule thanks to Neela, though he was partly to blame. He'd meant to leave as soon as possible after getting the alert from the hypertransceiver, but Neela had him entwined in her lekku, and the little lethan refused to let him go. Thus, he'd ended up staying two days longer than he'd intended, not that he was complaining too loudly. Neela was one of his closest friends and lovers, but she could be so _possessive_ at times. A little of her went a long way, he thought with a grin.

He pulled out a small, palm-sized holo-cube she'd presented him with at the base of the boarding ramp before giving him a long, lingering kiss that was anything but chaste. He smiled as he looked at one of the images—Neela wearing only microbriefs of a sheer fabric and the aurodium anklet he'd bought her for her life day, laying back on her bed and smiling up at the imager with her arms folded behind her head and her lekku draped over her shoulders. Something to keep him company in hyperspace, she'd said.

A wave of loneliness swept over him. He sipped the ale—maybe he could numb it, he thought, then shook his head. He wasn't an alcoholic, nor did he have a desire to become one. He would have loved to take Neela with, but he knew he'd been right to leave her behind. It was too dangerous, and what if the Empire caught up with him? More importantly, opening that door would mean he would have to divulge the full-extent of his involvement in the Clone Wars, something he was not ready to do, and if the Empire ever did catch up with him, she would go down as well. Even if she wouldn't blame him, he would blame himself if that ever happened.

He had tried that once with Luka, a beautiful blue-skinned Twi'lek, but it had been a disaster. No, it was best to leave her on Ryloth where she was safe and he wouldn't have to worry as much. He held his mug up in a silent toast to her holocube resting on the table.

It was strange that as he grew older, he began to find it harder and harder to leave his friends behind and get back on the road. He could remember a time when he found a thrill in the very idea of the open space-lanes and outwitting the white-hats, but now it was becoming a grind. His two traveling companions might make his business run smoother, but they were worthless for conversation. One didn't understand humor, and the other seemed to be growing more and more bloodthirsty.

He finished his beer and put the mug in the sink, then followed the corridor to the starboard engine room. He wanted to check the hyperdrive's in-flight telemetry; he hadn't pulled it apart recently to realign the charge-planes and de-gauss the field stabilizers. With a .75-class military hyperdrive, such maintenance was not only necessary, it was critical.

The engine room was show-room clean. He couldn't stand messy engine rooms. The hyperdrive in the corner hummed along, and all of its indicator lights were green, signaling that all was nominal. The sublight engines were powered down and in stand-by mode, their indicator lights blinking yellow. On the bulkhead next to the hyperdrive was a centerfold poster of the honey-skinned Nahno Orteka, showing her standing against an old ARC-170 with her arms outstretched to the sides, wearing nothing but a demure smile.

He stepped over the power cables snaking across the floor and accessed the hyperdrive's control interface, bringing up the in-flight data. The power-to-field strength ratio was only off a few thousandths of a point, so the hyperdrive's efficiency was right on track. He would have to do a little maintenance soon, but it was nothing that couldn't wait.

He winked at the poster as he walked out of the engine room. "See ya around, love," he chuckled. Nahno Orteka might have been cute, but he'd take the ARC-170 over her any day. If he could find one still in working order, he'd buy it in a heartbeat. The closest he'd ever come was finding the fuselage for one from which he'd harvested some of the cockpit avionics and control yoke and installed them aboard the _Glory Days_. Taja had told him he was a fool for doing so, but she'd done so with a grin.

There were times when he missed the towering furball. A Togorian with black-striped gray fur and emerald green eyes, she was as tall as a male Wookiee and resembled a bipedal feline. Taja Shar Kreel had been his first traveling companion, joining him about a year after he'd obtained the _Glory Days_; she was also his best friend and one of only a handful of people who knew the full extent of his past.

A crack shot and brilliant co-pilot, she had an intuition that bordered on the uncanny, and for nearly a decade, they had worked the Corellian Run together, earning a great deal of money and a reputation that opened a lot of doors. The day she had left to pursue bounty hunting like her idol, Boba Fett, had been a sad one for him, but he didn't grudge her anything. They still talked via hypertransciever and met up occasionally to share a beer and swap stories, but it wasn't the same.

He turned off the jukebox and checked his chrono. Only a few more minutes until the ship reached the Tasrov Cloud. He sighed and looked around. It had only been two years since Taja had left, but it seemed like ages ago. Shaking his head, he climbed the turret well up to the cockpit.

"Greetings, sir," T.C. said as the door to the cockpit opened. "Two minutes until we revert to realspace at the edge of the Tasrov Cloud."

"Great." He sat in the pilot's chair and thought about who could've left the message. If it had been Taja, it probably meant that she was in some kind of trouble again, but he doubted it was her. She was the only other person who even knew of the base's existence, having helped him build it, and she would've just shown up there and contacted him directly.

The event timer on the back wall beeped.

"Reverting to realspace," T.C. called out as the purple-black swirls of hyperspace gave way o the white streaks of stars that snapped into place as the ship completed its reversion. The whine of the hyperdrive wound down as the sublight engines rumbled to life.

"Here we go," he said, grabbing hold of the control yoke and activating the ship's sensors.

"Reversion complete." The droid activated the shields and adjusted their power level. "Deviation is less than point-zero-zero-three. Current bearing is zero-six-two-point-nine, attitude seven degrees positive. Haven Base is on a bearing of zero-four-one-point-seven, nine-point-five degrees negative."

He sighed. "Why? Why do you do that, T.C.?"

"Do what, sir?"

"Call out tactical information as if you were aboard a capital ship?"

"I do not understand the nature of your query, sir. I am unaware of any other way of relaying such information." The droid sounded flustered.

He shook his head. "Nevermind, T.C. Carry on." He would much rather have T.C. give him all the information he could, even if some of it was a little much, rather than not give him enough.

The Tasrov Cloud was the remnant of a dead solar system whose primary star was the blackened cinder of an extinct red dwarf. The system had harbored an advanced civilization eons ago, but the planets that the system once had were now broken apart, resulting in a vast asteroid field almost an entire light hour across. How they'd broken up was as much of a mystery as who the ancient civilization had been.

Now, it was a hyperspace hazard and only fools tried to actually navigate through the field. The dangers were many. There was no primary star to provide light to navigate by, and there was no drift chart of the field. Worse, there were still active weapon emplacements drifting through the asteroids that would fire on any passing ships, and though they were ancient beyond imagining, their plasma-based ordnance was still capable of great damage. On top of that, the high metallic content of the asteroids themselves played hell with the sensors, and Andano had quickly learned to home in on specific asteroids and weapon emplacements to navigate. This would have been impossible if the field wasn't static with little movement.

Surprisingly, though, even pirates and smugglers avoided the field, claiming the place was haunted. There had been numerous rumors of ghost ships prowling its depths, though he didn't really believe these tales, dismissing them as the product of a combination of mass hysteria and too much alcohol. Spacers did tend to be a superstitious lot.

I guess I'm a fool, then, he laughed to himself, putting the ship into a dive and zipping past huge asteroids and chunks of rock that only the sensors could see. As for haunted ships, he'd never seen any, and if they existed, he was curious to see if their shields could stand up to Bull's Eye.

"Coming up on a weapon emplacement, sir."

The warning light went off as a weapon system locked onto the ship.

"Now!" he yelled, pulling back on the yoke and feathering the throttle. The ship sailed within a few meters over the top of an asteroid.

T.C. cranked up the rear deflectors.

Large, yellow streaks of plasma shot past the ship as he flew it down under and around several smaller asteroids, blocking the emplacement's view of the _Glory Days_. The weapon emplacements were nothing more than blackened emitter tubes sticking out of the face of the asteroids, and had probably been part of some type of planetary defense grid.

"Clear, sir."

"Those things sneak up on you, don't they?"

"Your query suggests that they possess an intelligence and such a conclusion is in error, sir. This civilization is extinct, and the weapon emplacements' computer systems most likely—"

"Okay, T.C. I get the idea."

He spent the next half hour deftly flying the ship around asteroids and avoiding the weapon emplacements' plasma-fire. That poodoo stuck like glue; he'd seen it melt completely through smaller asteroids. He didn't need a drift chart to navigate, though. By orienting on the still-present but greatly diminished gravity well of the dead star, and on the "landmark" asteroids and weapon emplacements, he could find his way to the Haven, as he called it, and avoid the nuclear torpedoes all together. They weren't neat and surgical like proton torpedoes roughly were; they'd explode like a star being born and scatter radioactive dust everywhere. He had no desire to scrub that mess off the hull.

"That is odd," T.C. said as they approached within the last few thousand kilometers of the base. "I keep spotting intermittent radio-frequency noise, sir, almost as if there is another ship out there."

"Can you get a lock?" he asked, recalling stories of the ghost ships.

"No, sir. I'm not even sure that what I'm seeing is indicative of ships. It's very strange."

"All right. Stay on it." He toggled the ship's intercom. "Look alive, Bull's Eye. We may have company."

"Look alive? Are you trying to be funny?" was the response.

"I only meant stay sharp." He cut the comm off before the IG-86 could respond and pulled the throttle back a little, activating the thrusters and braking. The ship slowed to a crawl.

There were two emplacements near the Haven, but they were on the other side, and he doubted T.C. was confusing them for ships. If someone _had_ found his little base, he wanted to get the drop on them and figure out whether or not he had to kill them. If nothing else, he could always activate the self-destruct sequence for the Haven remotely.

"Strange. The RF noise has vanished, sir." T.C. tried adjusting the sensors. "Even on the high-gain antenna array, the signal is gone."

"Did you get a recording of the noise?"

"Yes, sir."

"Run it through the sensor computer later and see if an analysis algorithm can't figure out what it is."

"Yes, sir."

"Last asteroid," he murmured, slowly edging around the side of the monolithic ball of rock.

Straight ahead was the large, lopsided asteroid he'd built his base into the side of, it's surface dark gray and pockmarked with craters from millennia of impacts. About a half-kilometer in diameter at its widest point, it was surrounded by about ten klicks of clear space. The blast doors built into the wide end of the asteroid lead into the hangar bay were sealed shut, as was the external airlock next to it.

No ships were in sight as he oriented the ship in front of the hangar doors, and there was nothing to suggest that the secrecy of the base had been violated. Still, his cautious nature had made him feel that he should proceed with care. He toggled the subspace radio and tight-beamed a transponder code at the doors. A moment later, a horizontal line of light split the center of the doors and grew wider as they slowly opened, revealing a large, well-lit hangar bay that could fit two ships.

He carefully guided the ship in, then spun it so it faced outward. "Turn off the shields."

"Yes, sir." The droid toggled the shields off.

He engaged the landing gears, and a mechanical whine reverberated through the hull as they descended and locked into place with a clunk. He set the ship down gently. "T.C., leave the ship on stand-by until I give the all clear," he said, standing up and remotely activating the hangar doors. He'd have liked to install an atmospheric retainment field generator, but they were so blasted expensive. As soon as the doors closed with a boom that he felt through the deck of the ship, there was a dim hiss, growing louder as the hangar bay pressurized. "Once I do, have the ASP droids start refueling the ship."

"Very good, sir," T.C. responded. He began switching everything over to stand-by mode.

Andano quickly exited the ship, drawing his blaster pistol as he crept down the boarding ramp. He thought briefly about taking Byll's Eye along, but decided against it. If somebody _had _infiltrated the Haven, he wanted answers, and Bull's Eye seemed too likely to shoot first and ask questions later.

The hangar was big, sixty-five meters wide, forty meters deep, and fifteen meters high, giving it an odd appearance with a ceiling that looked too low. There were a series of doors on the back wall leading to the air, fuel and water tanks, and some storage rooms, an airlock door leading into the base itself, and a wide alcove that served as a machine shop and storage area for tools and spare parts.

The outer airlock door didn't look tampered with, nor did the inner door, but he quickly became certain that there _was_ someone in the base; he could sense it, and his intuition was rarely wrong. Opening the inner door confirmed it; the corridors were darkened and lit in a red glow from the emergency back-up lights. This can't be good, he thought, stomach sinking. If somebody had gotten to the hypertransceiver computer…

The corridors, made from corridor tubing he'd salvaged from junked CEC ships, made the inside of the base resemble a YT series transport. The main corridor ran straight ahead to the generator room. Along the right side were three doors: the far door led to a chamber containing life support equipment; the middle door led to a droid bay containing a dozen or so ASP droids; and the closest door led to a large storage room.

A large door in the middle on the left side of the main corridor led into another that formed a large, perfect circle. Its sides were lined with eight doors, six of which led to storage chambers. One door led to the external airlock, and the last door, opposite of the opening into the main corridor, was the control room. Across from the door leading into the control room was a mag-sealed door leading into the center of the circle formed by the corridor. Inside was the most important piece of equipment in the whole base, the hypertransceiver.

As he approached the back of the circular corridor where the door to the comm room was located, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The door to the comm room was still secure, but there was a tiny washer in front of the door that led to the control room. He picked it up and examined it in the dim red emergency lights. Someone had shorted something out, otherwise, the emergency lights wouldn't be on. He examined the control plate for the door to the control room next.

There were scratch marks around the screws holding the surface plate in place.

"Chuba!" he whispered. At least the comm room was secure; there was no control plate to open the door there, just a series of hidden switches that had to be opened in the right sequence. If not, the intruder would be immobilized by several hidden stun blasters.

He went to one knee off to one side of the door to the control room and reached up and slapped the control plate. As the door hissed open, he aimed.

It was pitch black inside save for the lighted instrumentation, another warning sign. It should've been lit with normal lighting. Suddenly, he was sure that there was more than one person in there; he could feel it. He debated whether or not to go back and get Bull's Eye, who could see perfectly in the dark.

"You look like a fool, Kryss," a raspy, feminine voice said.

He froze. How—?

"Oh, for the Throne's sake! Stand up, will you? I want to look at you," the voice purred.

"Xian?" Oh, this was worse than bad.

"Who else would it be, love?"

"How did you—" he started to ask, standing up.

"Find this little love nest?" she finished for him. "It wasn't easy, I assure you." She turned on the lights, which came on slowly, revealing a tall, powerfully built Falleen woman with dark green skin and long black hair pulled back into a pony tail. She wore a leather vest, cargo pants, and combat boots, all black, and had a large, chunky chrono on one wrist and a bracer computer on the other. Around her waist was a gun belt with a large, heavy blaster pistol in its holster—a 454 Death Hammer, if he wasn't mistaken.

Nor was she alone. A tall, muscular male Falleen stood next to her and was dressed similarly, though he was armed with a heavy blaster rifle. His eyes were narrowed as he glared warily at Andano.

"Who's your friend?" Kryss asked.

"Riyax," she answered. "A girl has to have protection when traveling the spacelanes alone." She smiled faintly at him, which was even more unsettling; Falleen were normally rather distant in expressing emotions. "Especially from you."

He snorted. "I've never known you to need _anyone's_ protection. How did you find this place?"

The male growled and leveled his rifle at him.

"You're a dangerous man, Kryss Andano," she murmured as she approached. She oozed a potent sexuality that flooded his senses. She stopped in front of him and caressed the side of his face. "Put away your blaster, Kryss. We're all friends in here."

He shook his head and blinked his eyes to try clearing his mind. He knew she was emitting pheromones to make him more pliable, a trick the Falleen excelled at which is why they made such dangerous enemies. Her request sounded so reasonable, too, but he fought off her chemical influence. "No," he said quietly.

She grabbed him by the throat so fast that he didn't have time to react, bearing her sharp teeth in an amused but restrained grin that told him she had absolutely no fear of him whatsoever, despite what she said.

The male snarled and raised his rifle.

"_Grisshak! Ta pak chi ra!_" Xian hissed over her shoulder, flicking a glance at the male. "He is mine. Do not forget your place."

The male's face became passive and his coloration faded to its normal greenish hue.

Andano, meanwhile, struggled to remain calm; if Xian had wanted to kill him, she'd be squeezing a great deal harder. Unfortunately, he'd dropped his blaster to cling to her massive forearm to keep from strangling.

She returned her cool grin back to him. "I want my money, Kryss." Her color darkened briefly, for his benefit, he was sure, showing a hint of her anger. "You would make a fine addition to my harem, and I have ways of dealing with your kind." A blast of pheromones, smelling faintly of warm sand and citrus that had a profound physical effect on him told him just what those ways were.

Xian was a very powerful vigo in Black Sun, one he'd done fairly brisk business with for the past several years, running various contraband and information for her. She was atypical of most Falleen, though, as she was more emotive than others of her species, making her inferior in their eyes. This was probably one reason she found criminal operations more to her taste, where she didn't have to care about what others thought of her. Power and money did have their priveleges.

She was also known to keep a harem of males of various species on Nar Shadda to wait on her hand and foot, and was rumored to put particularly attractive men who worked for her in it if they couldn't pay their debts to work off what they owed through other means. Kryss wasn't sure whether to be flattered or terrified.

"Can't—breathe—" he gasped, fear beginning to trickle down his spine.

"I'll make sure your slave collar is comfortable, love," she said, laughter in her eyes. "You would be a prize. The wait is almost worth it."

"I—money!" he coughed.

She loosened her grip. "You have the money?" She sounded almost disappointed.

"No. I have something, though," he rasped. He only hoped she'd accept them.

"No tricks, Andano," she warned, releasing him.

He bent over, taking big, gasping breaths. "Chuba, woman!" he coughed, rubbing his neck.

She grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and slowly pulled until he was bent backwards and facing the ceiling. "I like you, Kryss. You amuse me," she said, looking down into his eyes. "That's the only reason I haven't yet terminated our relationship." She nuzzled his neck. "You smell of Twi'leks. Now, why doesn't that surprise me?" There was a hint of jealousy in her eyes; or was that his imagination?

He grinned even as his eyes watered from the pain. "Envy?"

She jerked his head. "Would you like me to brand you mine?" she asked, eyes narrowing in anger—a huge display of emotion for her. "Do not test my patience. Now, tell me what you have besides money, and yourself, of course, that I might be interested in."

He knew the male couldn't be pleased at seeing her flirt with a human—the Falleen considered all other species to be lesser beings, and for her to keep a harem of such creatures would be considered a perversion among her kind. Only her position within Black Sun protected her.

His debt came from having to bail Taja out of trouble about a year ago. She'd been arrested on Tatooine by Imperials for seditious activity, which came from her shoving a stormtrooper out of her way as she was chasing down a bounty. The lieutenant, an avaristic man named Harburik, had demanded fifty-thousand credits, but he'd finally settled for half that amount. Kryss didn't have that kind of cash laying around, so he'd gone to Xian.

"I have something in storage you might like," he said

"You'd better hope I do," she said, lightly kissing him and nipping at his lower lip. Her pheremonal cloud's effect on his body was nearly instantaneous.

His anger kindled. "Blast it! Stop with the kiffing pheromones!"

"Hmm," she said, pretending to consider it. "No." She grinned and released him. "Lead on, love."

The male shot him a withering glare, almost as if daring him to try something so he had an excuse to shoot.

He reached down to pick up his blaster, slowly, of course.

"Ah, ah, ah," Xian said, putting a boot on it. "No one is going to take it. Now, stop wasting time before I just decide not to wait to add you to my collection."

He shuddered at the thought. "All right. This way." He knew he could have easily rid himself of Xian and her companion without too much risk, but he didn't sense much danger, yet. Not only that, he wasn't ready to burn his bridges with Xian, and Black Sun, especially, because Xian wasn't the only member of the criminal syndicate he knew.

He led her into storage room three, the door next to the control room, flipping on the lights and gesturing towards the back. "Back there." The room was packed with dozens of crates of different shapes and sizes, some stacked on top of each other two and three high. "Wait here and—"

"I don't think so, love. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He sighed. "I'd still like to know how you found this place," he grumbled, picking his way around the boxes and crates as he led her to the back.

"It wasn't easy. I had to figure out where you change course on the Corellian Run from Arkanis to Sirpar," she explained, examining the crates she passed. "Oddly enough, your vectors always suggested the Tasrov Cloud. 'Why here?' I wondered. Unfortunately," she said, her voice hardening, "I didn't know about the weapon emplacements. I lost three ships. For that alone, you are very lucky to be still drawing breath. Riyax's brother was on one of those ships."

"That explains the surliness."

"Stow it, Andano. I'm still debating whether or not to add those ships to your tab," she hissed. "We picked up your little nest on sensors as soon as it began transmitting something we couldn't decode, and had one hell of a time getting here, but I wasn't leaving without my money or you in a slave collar."

"So those were _your_ ships I picked up," he said, recalling T.C.'s odd sensor readings. "How are you leaving?"

"Sir?" a voice came from his comm. "It is T.C."

He felt a blaster pressed to the back of his skull. "Be very careful how you answer, love," she warned.

"I'm just going to tell him to refuel the ship," he said, then activated the comlink. "T.C.? It's all clear. Go ahead and take on fuel and replenish our water and air."

"Very good, sir. I was beginning to worry. I've been thinking about those anomalous sensor readings—"

"T.C., it's all right. We got some guests—"

Xian hissed, pressing the blaster into the base of his skull.

"—uh, but they're fine. Everything is fine, here," he finished hastily.

"Very good, sir." The comlink shut off.

He put it away. "Uh, you still haven't answered my question. How are you going to get out of the Tasrov Cloud? You have no ship nearby."

"What are you talking about? I have a ship not far from here—"

He shook his head. "There is no ship anywhere near here."

"I sent it to park behind this rock, fool! It's there!"

"Xian—"

Snarling, she pushed him forward and pulled out her comlink, then shouted something into it. Only static came back. She glared at him murderously. That's _four_ ships you have cost me!" She stalked towards him.

"Wait! I'm giving you something you'll be able to sell to recoup your costs!" He pulled out a large, powered crate, setting it on top of a wooden box.

Her skin was very dark, and the 454 Death Hammer in her hand looked very big indeed. "You have one chance to impress me, Andano. No more games. If I like this, you'll drop me off at one of my ships waiting outside the Cloud. If I don't, I'm taking you and your ship."

"So much for a secret base," he muttered, disengaging the locks, which hissed.

"Oh, believe me, I'll be the only one who knows the exact location of this place," she said, "and as long as you continue to please me, it'll stay that way. If I have to come back here, though, I'll be bringing the Empire with me."

He swallowed nervously. Maybe it was time to cut ties to Black Sun after all. Xian knew too blasted much; he couldn't allow her to go to the Empire. "Um—"

"There won't be any need for Imperial intervention because this is going to pay me back with interest, right?" The tone in her voice suggested that wasn't a question so much as an order.

"Of course!" he scoffed, his mind racing to weigh the consequences of disposing of her.

"Is this it?"

"Yes." He pulled the top off the crate, and mist floated out; when it cleared, it revealed a trio of large, rust-colored eggs, each the size of his fist, resting on a cushion of foam.

"I want money, not breakfast!"

"These are kreehawk eggs, not food!" he snapped, tired of her irksome presence. "Each one alone is worth more than I owed you!"

"That doesn't cover my ships!" She reached across the crate and grabbed his shirt front. "You still owe me!"

"I didn't tell you to come looking for me. If you would have just waited, I would have brought you the money, and maybe even a little more just because! So don't put those ships on me."

She snarled, then released him and caressed the eggs. "Where did you get these from?

"Does it matter? There'll be a feeding frenzy on Nar Shadda when the Hutts find out you have these. They're a mark of prestige. Believe me. You'll have no problem selling them, and will probably get more than enough to replace at least one or two of the ships." He knew she wouldn't have cared in the least that he'd stolen them from another Black Sun vigo, but he had to have _some_ secrets around her.

She came around to his side and closed the box, then turned to him, pressing herself against him and running her hands through his hair, grabbing it and pulling his head back once more. "Ooh," she purred, grinning hungrily. "I am _sorely_ tempted to put that collar on your neck anyways, Kryss Andano." She kissed him hard, biting his lower lip and drawing blood. "I can offer you so much more than some silly Twi'lek." She kissed him again.

He could feel his mind growing muddy in the presence of the pheremonal invitation she was offering him. She would protect him, he knew, and she had a great deal of money and influence to keep him safe. He would be the Prime among her harem, too, and would share more than just her bed; he would stand by her side and together, they would wrest control of Black Sun away from Xixor. He could have power beyond his wildest dreams—

"Come with me, Andano," she murmured hotly in his ear. "I won't even make you wear a collar." She drew her sharp teeth gently along his neck, then kissed him again, revealing emotions that would cause other Falleen to look at her in disgust. "Say, yes."

Struggling to clear his mind—it would be so easy to just give in and say yes—he said, "You only want me around because I can make you a lot of—ah!" He yelped as she nipped the side of his neck, drawing blood—what was it with women biting him? "—money!" he finished.

She grinned and licked her teeth. "True," she admitted cheerfully, "but I pay very well, and there _are_ fringe benefits." She kissed him again and laughed. "I find money to be a _stimulating_ subject."

He squinted his eyes shut. Say it! he raged at himself, fighting to make his mouth work. "I—can't!" he whispered at last. Saying that made him break into a sweat with the effort it had taken. He had people who depended on him, and if he said yes, Xian would only keep him all to herself and he'd never see his friends like Taja and Neela again.

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "How do you do that? How do you resist?" She pushed him away, turning to make sure the crate was locked.

The fog clouding his mind began to clear. "It's not easy," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting his eyes in pain. He was getting a headache.

"There is one other thing," she said.

He opened her eyes in time to see her pull out her blaster and shoot Riyax in the chest, killing him instantly.

"Close your mouth, Kryss. You look like a fish." She put her blaster away. "I told you I'd be the only one who'd know this place existed. Besides, Riyax here had been trying to sway my majordomo to his side to overthrow me."

"What about the other ship waiting for you?"

"Droid crew. Your secret is safe with me as long as you continue to please me."

He hated being involved in the politics of Black Sun, but at least Xian had kept her word about being the only one who knew about this place. He grabbed Riyax's legs and dragged him to the airlock, then disposed of the body. Then, he picked up his blaster and holstered it, then asked Xian to wait down the corridor.

"Why?" she asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Because I don't want you seeing the code for this door."

"What's in there?"

"A communication node."

"How clever," she laughed. "Let me guess. A hypertransceiver relay."

"Something like that."

She walked around the corner. "No tricks, Andano."

He made sure that she couldn't see him as he operated the hidden mechanisms to unseal and unlock the door. It hissed open, revealing a perfectly round chamber three meters in diameter whose center was dominated by a column-like Fabritech SB-3n hypertransceiver array that he'd salvaged from a Corellian corvette. Cobbled to it was a MicroThrust Processors TR5 Asymmetrical Lattice Relay computer that would route data to the _Glory Days_ according to pre-programmed protocols. Last but not least was the encryption module, a Carbanti Stutter Matrix he'd first encountered while working with CEC, who often used them to ensure that trade secrets stayed secret.

The chamber was lit with soft, low-EM lights recessed in the ceiling, though there were enough indicator lights on the array to provide plenty of illumination. Power and life support conduits ran down the sides of the bulkhead, some terminating in junction boxes, others continuing through the floor.

"Very nice," Xian purred as she came through the door. "Looks like something you'd find in a junk lot."

"If you did, it would cost as much as one of your ships." He walked around the side of the array and accessed the data file. The coded message was blinking red. Not only was it hands-on, it was a priority message; someone was in a hurry to get to him.

"What is all this?"

"Don't touch anything." He ran the message through the Stutter Matrix to decode it. Decoding a message usually took a few minutes and depended on the complexity of the algorithm used. Barely a half-minute later, though, the machine beeped, signaling that decoding was complete.

The message was from Beriska on Denon, another Black Sun vigo he knew—what was it today with Black Sun? he wondered. Then, he read the message, and his blood ran cold. It was a single word, one that he'd long ago arranged with her and never expected to see used.

_Almas_.

"Damn," he hissed, erasing the message. "Come on. We gotta go."

"What, no tour?"

"Now, Xian!" he said, moving past her. Oh, please, don't let it be too late, he silently prayed, though he was anything but a pious man. He locked the door behind Xian and ran towards the hangar bay; the ship should be refueled by now, and the air and water replenished, but the next shipment that was supposed to be loaded onto the ship would have to wait.

Almas.

Stang! He hadn't thought about that code word in years. Not only that, what was he going to do once he got to Denon? What was the situation there? There was no real way of knowing until he got there, and he couldn't get there until he dropped off his unwanted Falleen guest.

"There always seems to be excitement when you're around, Kryss," Xian said as she ran at his side. "Maybe I should come with you."

"No. Not this time, Xian. Besides, you have eggs to sell."

"You're right. There is money to be made."

Thankful that she was only kidding about coming with him, he rounded the corner and enter the hangar bay right as an ASP droid was detaching the fuel line.

"Are we leaving so soon, sir?" T.C. asked from the boarding ramp.

"Immediately," he answered. He only hoped he wasn't going to be too late.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen **

Standing at the windows at the front of the bridge, Moda absentmindedly stroked her right lekku that was draped over her shoulder while looking out into space. The _Bright Defender_ drifted through the Aos system which consisted of an orange dwarf orbited by three hot rockball planets and three gas giants, dubbed Aos-1 through -6. They were approaching Aos-5, a tawny-beige gas giant shot through with swirls of rusty browns and reds, and it loomed large in the windows. Its wide ice rings were tilted almost ninety degrees from the stars orbital plane, with the result that its "north" pole was pointed almost directly at the orange dwarf.

The Aos system was on the edge of the D'Anjon Nebula in the Arkanis Sector, an immense, glowing cloud left over from an ancient supernova, and had been owned by Kosmo-Line Heavy Industries for centuries. Kosmo line had long ago imported hundreds of beldons from Bespin, and bred them until the skies of Aos-4 and Aos-5 were filled with them; Aos-6 was too cold to support them. Using fully-automated platforms, the company was able to maintain strict privacy in the system while producing Tibanna and other useful gases from the gas giants, and various metal ores from the rockball planets.

The reason privacy was necessary was simple: Kosmo-Line was owned by the extremely shadowy corporate firm Steele, Black, and Goldmann, or SB&G, and they, in turn, were a corporate front for the Ion Ascendancy. SB&G owned dozens of such companies, directly and indirectly, and funneled hundreds of trillions of credits of profit, along with a multitude of resources, to the Ion Ascendancy through corporate shell companies, anonymous bank accounts, dummy corporations, and various investments. Most important of all, each account, every dummy corporation, and every single investment instrument were all innocuous in and of themselves, and they were arranged in such a way that only by looking at how they were all interrelated as a whole could one trace them back to SB&G, and from there, to the Ion Ascendancy. Take away one or two of the puzzle pieces, and it all fell apart.

The Ion Ascendancy was one of the best-kept secrets in the galaxy, and the Empire was none the wiser.

Assuming, of course, we can catch this fool Twi'lek woman, Moda thought sourly, tossing her lekku over her shoulder. She glared down at her chest in annoyance; she was _positive_ those stupid laundry droids were shrinking her uniforms. She grabbed the front of her uniform and tugged, trying in vain to adjust the bra underneath that Talus insisted she wear. Why in blazes he'd thought she'd need a ninety-six centimeter bust line was beyond her. She shot a glare at Talus, standing next to her and pretending not to notice her adjusting her microgarments, though his grin said otherwise. She was going to have a long talk with those idiot laundry droids.

"Entering Aos-5's gravity well," Lieutenant Creshwon announced from behind them. Wearing the form of a Nautolan, he'd come aboard with Talus from the _Ion Tide_ and sat in the portside trench.

The bridge was sleek and dimly lit by recessed can lights in the low ceiling, providing a soft white illumination that gleamed off of the highly-polished black deck plates, bulkheads, and ceiling. Two parallel trenches containing the ship's duty stations ran the length of the bridge with a wide catwalk between them that led to a broad dais three steps above the main deck. Wrapping around the front of the dais were floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of the front of the ship and the space beyond.

The command dais was where Talus and Moda currently stood. In its center was a large holoprojector displaying a holo-tac, or tactical display showing the ship as a blue triangle in the center and listing navigational and tactical information in the space around it. Standing on the edge of both sides of the dais were a pair of red lacquered B1 battle droids, and another pair guarded the turbolift at the back of the bridge.

Commander Enthate, a tall, powerfully-built human male with dark skin and a bald head, strolled up the catwalk, his hands clasped behind his back. "Put us in a geosync orbit around the northern hemisphere, twenty-three degrees off the equatorial plane," he ordered. "Half-speed."

"Coming about, sir!" Creshwon announced, sounding the maneuvers alarm.

"Set altitude to ninety-five thousand kilometers and keep the dive plane level."

"Setting altitude, zero on the dive plane!"

"Conn, sensor contact bearing one-seven-three-mark-four in the negs!" Sami called out.

"Light it up and let them know we're coming," the Commander said. "I want an ETA."

Moda watched as the ship descended into the murky atmosphere. The ship's external lights were all switched on, lighting up the sandy-colored clouds for a quarter-kilometer around, making them visible to any beldons in the area so they could avoid hitting the ship. Although the north pole faced the sun, it grew rapidly darker as they continued to descend through the upper atmosphere; the clouds were so thick that visibility was reduced to fifty meters, tops.

"Slow to one-quarter," Commander Enthate ordered.

"Slowing to one-quarter!" Creshwon responded. "We are at ninety-five thousand kilometers."

"Platform Nine has pinged our transponder," Sami said.

"Lower shields and transmit authentication code esk-esk-seven-one-nine," Enthate said. "Tell them to begin transferring materiél."

"Sending."

Platform Nine was the primary refining facility and was the size of a small city. It was also a secret depot used by the Ion Ascendancy to store everything from weapons and battle droids to food stuffs and medical supplies. It sat deeper than other refineries, below a thermocline layer that shielded it from all but a direct sensor scan of the area it was in.

"Now, it's your turn," Talus said, turning to Moda and straightening the shoulders of her uniform. "I'd like you on the flight deck to supervise things."

"Let's hope they don't forget the package," she said, referring to the stasis pod.

"They won't." He gently lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "You're the only one I trust with this, Moda."

Such a human behavior, she thought, amazed by his mimicry. She knew that this was his way of encouraging her to do something without him close by, and it annoyed her to find that she still felt anxiety about being away from him. "I'll head down there, then," she said, saluting.

Her two red lacquered B1 battle droid escorts were waiting for her in the turbolift; she referred to them as One and Two, and they followed her wherever she went except the bridge. As soon as the turbolift doors closed behind her, she could feel the uneasiness pressing in on her, and her two body guards weren't much help.

It was confusing to her as to why she couldn't purge herself of this…_clinginess_; it was embarrassing, sometimes, but she couldn't help it. Even though others of her kind would find it impossible to so much as harm another being, she knew she would be able to kill for Talus. She would kill for him and never suffer a single pang of regret. Without him, she would have been destroyed at the hands of Kith K'bar; that was why she would always remain loyal to Talus no matter what.

She shuddered, and goosebumps formed on her arms at the memory of Kith K'bar. She pulled her sleeves up and looked suspiciously at her skin. How odd, she thought. She'd never before experienced such a physical reaction; what was wrong with her? It didn't seem to be harmful, though, so she pulled her sleeves down and returned to thinking about Kith K'bar.

The Devaronian pirate had been brutal. She still wondered sometimes if everything that had occurred since being rescued by Talus wasn't just some beautiful, elaborate dream that was playing out in her mind as she lay dying in one of the dark, scurrier-infested cargo holds of Kith K'bar's ship, some last gasp of life before the darkness descended forever.

Kith K'bar. She could still recall with perfect clarity his arrogant saunter and his cruel smile. It was the same smile he'd wear as he aimed his disruptor at someone and fired. How many times had he threatened her with it? She'd lost count. His favorite way of dealing with her had been to kick her over when she hadn't moved fast enough or given him the answer he'd wanted. He'd damaged her so badly at one point that she hadn't been able to turn her head.

She could remember, too, the feeling of endlessness, a hopeless despair that hung over her like the pall of doom. Every day, she expected to be terminated at any time because he'd beat her every day, or shoot at her, or shoot her with ion pistols. He'd been so much bigger than her—how could she have possibly defended herself against such a monster? With one of her tools that she used to keep his junker ship running? He would laugh while ripping the arm holding the tool right off her body.

The turbolift of the door opened, revealing a long, wide corridor that she followed, heading towards the middle of the ship. There were numerous other crewmen and droids out and about who offered a salute as she passed. After walking for several minutes, she came to another set of turbolifts, guarded by more of the red lacquered B1 battle droids.

She felt jittery as she got in the turbolift and the door closed. She could do this; she'd been away from Talus a lot longer than this when she'd been crawling around in the duct work of this ship as it was being built. She just had to focus on the task at hand; that always helped.

The turbolift door opened into an immense cargo bay thirty meters high and one hundred meters wide. It was easily three times that long, and there were dozens of smaller cargo areas lining the sides on multiple levels, with mag-cranes flitting about and moving cargo around. Cargo droids of various shapes and sizes were present as well, going over cargo manifests and supervising work teams. At the far end were a set of blast doors open to the "flight deck," with a glowing white border around the opening denoting an active atmospheric containment field. Sparks fell in a shower to one side as two ASP droids performed simple repairs; she was careful to go around. She didn't need holes burned into her uniform on top of having it shrank by those dim-witted laundry droids.

The "flight deck" of the _Bright Defender_ was really just the reinforced roof of the habitable areas of the ship below. Power trunks ran along either side, and the vaults had been removed, it dropped off into open space. She could see the two halves of the turtle-shell forward hulls, and clinging to their underside were dozens upon dozens of starfighters. Talus' ship, _Midnight Rider_, was berthed in a yellow circle painted on the deck to the left of the blast doors, while to the right was the _Positron_, a GS-100 salvage ship. Three more yellow circles on each side running the length of the deck sat open. These were temporary berths for transports to off-load cargo and personnel.

She walked through the atmospheric containment field and out to the forward edge of the flight deck, the noxious wind from the gas giant's turbulent atmosphere tearing at her uniform and making her lekku flap about. She looked down over the tips of the massive barrels of the prow-mounted turbolaser cannons and into the soupy tan clouds far below. It was if the ship were flying through a fog bank.

"Send them," she told Talus through her internal comlink. The engine noise and howling wind was tremendous; her regular comlink would have been usesless.

"They are on their way," came the response.

Sure enough, a few moments later, she could see the lights from numerous freighters of various makes and models rising up through the murk. She retreated to the interior of the cargo bay and watched as the first transport—a YT-1250—flew up and over the flight deck and landed in one of the yellow circles with a booming thud. Its boarding ramp lowered and row after row of black lacquered B1 battle droids marched out, even as more transports began landing and disgorging their battle droids as well.

Six droids carried a large, rectangular box, three on a side. These were the last droids off the first transport, which quickly departed. The box was the "brain" for this division of battle droids, the remote transceiver that they relied upon to receive their orders. Talus, however, had studied the mistakes of the Separatists, and had ordered that all of the battle droids not retrofitted with heuristic processors be fitted with advanced secondary processors instead so that they could still function at peak efficiency.

"Comm room, deck twenty-one," she said as they passed.

"Roger-roger," they responded in unison.

A division of battle droids consisted of 21,814 droids, and the _Bright Defender_ was taking on three of them. It took hours as the transports flew up, the droids marched off, and the transports departed to get more. None of them were empty-handed; all carried boxes and crates containing weapons, spare parts, medical supplies, food stuffs, and even linens. She had to assign every group to their place and direct them where to deliver their cargo, though eventually they learned to do this on their own. Food stuffs always went to a specific cargo bay, for example, and they transmitted this information down the line. Many of the battle droids, after delivering their cargo, returned to the main cargo hold and deactivated.

At least now we'll have the Ion Troopers we need, she thought, watching row after row of the droids march past. Now, I just have to wait on this stasis pod. Where in blazes was it?

As the hours wore on, lightning began to flash outside of the ship. A storm was brewing, dangerous on a gas giant because the electrical discharges seemed to grow more powerful in proportion to the size of the planet. If they didn't finish soon, they'd have to retreat to a higher orbit or risk—

Sure enough, there was a bright flash and thunderous boom, followed by the whine of engines trying to climb. The transport, a G9 Rigger—where in blazes had they dug _that _thing up? she wondered briefly—came sailing over the edge of the flight deck trailing black smoke from its main engine. It made it about five meters above the flight deck before what was left of the engine exploded, sending shrapnel flying and causing the ship to crash to the deck with a deafening boom. Its ventral wing snapped off and skidded into a group of Ion Troopers, while the ship itself bumped into another transport, causing it to rock.

Dozens of droids ran out of the cargo bay with fire extinguishing equipment and began putting out the flaming wreckage scattered all over the flight deck. Battle droids began picking up the pieces of their fallen brethren.

"Take them to engineering!" she shouted running over to what was left of the Rigger. Idiots! she fumed. This piece of junk had been obsolete in the Clone Wars! What was it still doing in service to transport something so valuable?

The boarding ramp at the back of it crashed to the deck. "That was unexpected!" a battle droid announced, climbing down.

"Who shot at us?" another asked, joining the first.

"What cargo do you have?" Moda yelled, running up to them.

"Uh, nothing big," the first one said.

"Just a stasis pod and some supplies," the second one added.

"Stang!" She climbed up the side of the Rigger and dropped into the ruined cargo bay, which had a gaping hole where its engine used to be. There were dozens more battle droids, but only four of them were moving. Buried under some crates, she could make out the corner of the stasis pod. "Stang, stang, stang!" she whispered, rushing over and uncovering the pod.

"Hey!" one of the battle droids yelled after getting hit with a box.

"Shut up and help me, you clankers!" she ordered.

A thumping came from the stasis pod. "Help!" a voice cried from within. "Let me out!"

"Stang!" she roared. "You clankers damaged the pod!"

"It's not our fault!" one droid protested.

"Help me get this pod out of here before I decide to melt you down for scrap!"

Now, what? she thought frantically. They didn't have any other stasis pods, so now she'd have to find some place to put this prisoner and quickly before Talus found out. They managed to get the stasis pod out of the ship—the coffin-like pod's controls spat sparks and the glass window was cracked and fogged over. There'd be no fixing this, she knew.

"Pleas, help! I can't breathe!" the muffled voice whimpered. "I'll be good! I swear! Just let me out! Please!"

Glaring at the droids helping her, she yelled for a hover cart and loaded the pod onto it. "Get her inside, now!" She walked beside the cart as the battle droids hefted it onto the hover cart and pushed it into the main cargo bay. "The rest of you salvage what you can out there and clear the deck!"

"Roger-roger!" came the response.

"Where to, sir?" one of the black battle droids asked as it pushed the cart.

She looked around. The main cargo bay wouldn't do. It would have to be somewhere out of the way, somewhere she could go regularly without arousing suspicion to check on the prisoner. "The engineering bays," she said at last. She was the ship's chief engineer, and the engineering bays just forward of the main reactors were warm and safe. "Let's hurry," she said, leading the way.

The voice inside the pod began screaming. "Let me out!" came the muffled shriek, followed by thumping from her pounding on the inside. "I know you're out there! Please! I don't want to die!" The screams broke down into sobs.

Moda ignored her. Were they all so emotional? she wondered in annoyance. She turned her mind to Talus. He was unlikely to come down to the engineering bays. Sami might, but she would stack some crates to block the view of one of the bay-rooms.

"Moda, what is happening?" Talus' voice said over her comlink.

"Stang!" she muttered, pulling the comlink off her belt. "Quiet, you!" She thumped the top of the stasis pod, then keyed the comlink. "One of the transports was struck by lightning and crashed onto the deck," she answered. Now, she'd have more work to do—the flight deck needed to be inspected to make sure nothing vital was damaged, which meant more documentation. "I think it is time to discuss updating our utility vehicles. They were using a flaming Rigger!"

His chuckling came through. "Was that a Rigger that was on fire, or just an epithet?"

"Don't get cute," she retorted, in no mood for his mimicry of humor. Still, it was good to hear his voice. "It is high time to stop using such obsolete junk!"

"What's the damage?"

"A few dozen battle droids trashed, and one of the other transports got bumped." She cut off the comlink. "Turbolift three," she ordered the Ion Troopers, pointing to one of several turbolifts at the end of the corridor, then keyed the comlink again. "Most can be repaired. The Rigger is dead, though. Its main engine blew. I say good riddance to bad rubbish."

"The stasis pod?"

"Safe and sound," she lied, finding it a strange experience. She'd never before lied to anyone, let alone Talus, but this was something that she preferred to handle on her own. She didn't need Talus hovering over her; she was the one who did the hovering. She got in the turbolift.

"Uh, sir?" one of the Ion Troopers said. "I don't think the stasis pod—"

"Shut up!" she hissed, then said to Talus, "I'll make a report later."

"Very well," Talus said. "Come to the bridge whenever you finish. The comlink clicked off.

"The stasis pod isn't safe and sound, sir," one battle droid said.

"I know that, you clanker!" Moda snapped, stepping off the turbolift.

There were several engineering bays throughout the ship, serving as storage areas for engine parts, tools, and various equipment. There were also secondary control systems that could access critical ship functions in times of emergency. All of them were cavernous chambers—the Separatists seemed to have an affinity for building things _big_—longer than they were wide, with large power and cooling conduits a meter in diameter along the right wall and a multilevel series of side-bays lining the other wall.

Some of the side bays contained machine shops, others refresher units and galley areas. Still others were empty or contained bundles of conduit pieces, spools of cable and wiring, or heavy machinery like mag-cranes and hover-lifts and binary load lifters.

The empty bays were completely open in the front, but were equipped with force-fields, and that was why Moda chose the engineering bay to hide the prisoner in. "Start loading some crates in front and to the side of this storage bay," she ordered the black battle droids. "Leave three meters of space between the crates and the opening."

"Roger-roger!" they said and went off to obey.

She pushed the stasis pod into the empty bay. "You two stand just outside," she told her red battle droids, who wordlessly obeyed.

"Please," the voice said weakly. "Let me out!"

She adjusted the atmospheric controls in the side-bay, activating the force field, then lowered the stasis pod to the deck and tried keying it open. The electronics were fried, so she settled for using a pry bar to break it open, wrinkling her nose in disgust as the odor of hot, unwashed body wafted up.

The young Togruta girl, dressed in a filthy white shift and wearing shackles around her slender wrists and ankles, came jumping out of the pod, gasping for air. She flailed and stumbled, falling to the ground, then tried getting up and scrambling away, only to run right into the wall with a yelp. "I can't see!" she wailed, feeling the wall with her hands, then putting her back to it and drawing her knees up defensively. "What have you done to my eyes?" she cried, trembling.

Moda ignored her and pushed the stasis pod out of the storage bay. The room was about five meters square, enough room for a cot and some linens. Stang, she thought. I have to feed her, too, and then she'll want to relieve herself. Disgusting.

"I-I know you're there," the Togruta whimpered, reaching out blindly with one hand. "Where am I? What have you done to my eyes?"

Moda came over and stood about a meter away, looking down at the wretch.

"Answer me!" she yelled, then began crying again, tears spilling from her large blue eyes. "Why can't I see? Help me, please." She held out both hands, waving them about; they trembled as if she had palsy. "My name is—" She stopped. "I can't remember," she whispered. She winced at the sounds of the battle droids stacking crates.

Food, linens for her bed, clean water, what else? she wondered. The girl was perhaps thirteen at the oldest, and Moda found herself at a loss for what else she might require. She left the room, activating the force field as she went, and walked to the end of the engineering bay.

"Come back, please!" the girl's voice followed her. "Don't leave me here!"

Moda looked at her datapad and began ordering supplies and equipment—a holocam, a foldable cot, pillow, blankets, linens, food, several drums of clean water, and a medical kit. She would have to order one of her battle droid body guards to take the prisoner to the refresher four times a day.

The supplies began showing up about ten minutes later. The food was dry rations, but it would have to do for now. She ordered everything put inside the room and the stasis pod disposed of well. The girl just cowered in the corner, flinching at every noise, her chains rattling almost continuously.

When all but her red battle droids had left, Moda leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, looking at this Togruta. The girl had white _pau'ri_ markings in the form of ovals on the tops and bottoms of her small hands and feet, and the lines on her face formed white eyebrows that turned sharply and ran to the corner of her eyes, under which were a series of dors vertically aligned. A white strip ran from the center of her lower lip over her chin and down her throat, tapering off near the base of it.

"Please talk to me," she whispered, sniffing. "Tell me what's wrong with me."

Moda was surprised to find herself experiencing anxiety at the thought of saying something. "You have hibernation sickness." There, she thought, grinning. That wasn't so hard.

The girl jumped at the sound of Moda's voice and began whimpering. "Am—am I going to die?"

"No." She squatted down and pulled the girl's feet towards her to remove the shackles, noticing for the first time the scars around her slender ankles.

"Am I to be beaten, now?"

Moda glared at her suspiciously. What was this silly girl—

"It's okay," she whispered. "I don't remember what I did wrong, but it must have been bad for you to put me in that coffin."

She's serious! Moda realized. "It was a stasis pod." She came closer and removed the manacles, noting the scars on her wrists were similar to those on her ankles. "You have hibernation sickness. That's why you cannot see or remember much." She stood and tossed the restraints out of the cell.

"I was in—stasis?" she asked, sounding shocked. "For how long?"

"Six years, three months, seventeen days, five hours, forty-three minutes, and six seconds."

She reached out a trembling hand and felt around until she found Moda's boot, then ran her hand up Moda's shin. "Who—who are you, please?"

"I am Moda, and you are my prisoner."

"Prisoner? What have I done?" she whimpered.

Losing patience, she said, "It's not important. In time, you will remember, and then you will wish you had not. Give me your clothing."

Her eyes widened as she clutched her shift about herself protectively. "But—but I'm _naked_ underneath!"

"There is no one aboard this ship to see nor care. Give them to me." Deciding that didn't sound authoritative enough, she added, "Now."

Tears spilling as her lekku darkened and her face flushed in shame, she slowly pulled the shift over her head and handed it outward in Moda's direction, pulling her legs up and trying to use them to cover herself.

Moda took the foul-smelling garment and tossed it in the garbage chute. The girl was better off—the rag was probably infested with bacteria. "Stand up," she said, when she returned.

"Please, mistress. I—I—"

"Now, Togruta. I want to examine you for parasites." Who knew what this girl had gotten into in the depths of Nar Shadda? She took a bio-scanner from the medical kit.

Weeping in humiliation, the prisoner did as ordered, or tried to. She stood, and her knees gave out, making her collapse.

Moda sighed—that was what people did when they were frustrated, she thought—she helped the girl stand up, then caught her as she fell forward and sat her on the cot. She frowned at how malnourished the Togruta was—she could count ribs and vertebrae—but the extensive scarring across her back made her eyes go wide. She'd never seen anything like it; dozens of lighter orange weals criss-crossed over the darker orange of her skin, stretching from the tops of her narrow shoulders to the top of her rump.

"You've been damaged," she said, shocked.

The girl had one arm across her chest to cover her barely-formed breasts, and the other across her lap. "I have?" she whispered.

"You have extensive scarring across your back." She adjusted the bio-scanner's settings. "Enjoy your amnesia while it lasts." She ran the instrument over the girl's legs and feet, then over her back. It would've been better to have left her in stasis, she thought to herself. The young girl was anemic and malnourished, and would need a specialized, high-protein diet with plenty of meat, and vitamin supplements; rations wouldn't do. More work. The scanner beeped, showing no parasites.

"What was that?" the girl asked, cocking her head.

"It's a medical scanner. So far, you have no parasites."

"May I cover myself with something?"

"Once I am done scanning you. Arms out."

She turned her face away as her lekku and montrals flushed darkly, and her blush spread down her neck, she did as told.

Moda quickly scanned the rest of her, and found no parasites. At least the prisoner wouldn't need medical care besides a specialized diet; if she'd needed to go to the medical bay, Talus would've found out for sure. She noted another scar, too, a four or five centimeter long, vertical cut that started a centimeter or two above the rust-brown nipple of her left breast and ran straight up.

She wanted to ask the prisoner about it, but it would do no good right now since the girl was still under the effects of hibernation sickness. Instead, she stood and handed the girl a fluffy white robe.

The prisoner put it on, clutching it closed. "May I have some water, please?"

She handed her a flask. "There's linens, towels, toiletries, rations, and several drums of water. There's also blankets. I'll have my droids take you to the refresher four times a day to attend to your physical needs. I'll be ordering you a specialized diet as well, as Togruta eat only meat, correct?"

She nodded. "Yes, mistress."

"Come on, then. I will take you to the refresher now." She grabbed a clean shift and microgarments for the prisoner, as well as socks and sandals.

"Thank you, mistress," she murmured, eyes downcast. She tried to stand, but fell to the cot.

Moda ended up having to help her stand and walk, letting the girl lean against her. She glanced at her chrono. Stang. This was exactly why she never took prisoners—she was no good at it, and they always ended up wasting your time. She helped the girl walk out of the room and down to the refresher.

The engineering bay had several refreshers, including one that had a sani-steam for emergency washing in case of spilled chemicals. It was completely outfitted like a normal sani-steam, with the addition of extra spray nozzles, and was roomy enough for hazmat suits, too. It also came with a jump-seat built into the wall in case someone had to sit.

"I hear droids!" she whispered, clutching at Moda's arm.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes. The battle droids belong to me."

The girl began trembling. "I—remember black battle droids," she said, trailing off. She shook her head. "It's gone."

"Mine are red."

"The black ones—they came for me, I think." She reached up to touch Moda, her hand brushing a lekku. "You're Twi'lek?"

"For now." She set the girl in the sani-steam, pulling down the small bench so she could sit; she didn't want the prisoner damaged further from collapsing. The hot water would ease the girl's muscle stiffness from the hibernation sickness. "I'll have more garments brought to your cell." She took towels out of the nearby closet and set them outside of the sani-steam, taking the girl's hand and showing her where they were. "Soap is here," she said, guiding the girl's hand to the dispenser in the sani-steam. "Twenty minutes. There'll be two droids right outside. I'll be back in a little while."

"I'll be good, mistress," she said meekly.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion like she'd seen others do in holo-serials. People who said such things usually wound up doing the exact opposite. Instead, she walked over to where the two red battle droids stood. "Set your weapons to stun and guard her."

"Our assigned duty is to guard you," one said.

"I am overriding your current assignment." She tapped her bracer computer and summoned four more red battle droids. "Two of you are to guard the entrance to this engineering bay. No one is to enter, not even Talus, without my authorization. You two," she said, pointing to the other two, "are with me."

She knew Talus could override her orders to these droids, but she hoped that he never even came down here. It wasn't her fault that the Rigger was hit by lightning, and now that the girl was free, there was no reason not to initiate an interrogation. She wanted to be able to interrogate the girl without Talus knowing; if any useful information came out of it, _then_ she would tell him. He was a little too soft sometimes, but she had no problem doing the unseen dirty work for him.

Her two body guard droids followed silently as she went to the girl's cell and set up the holocam outside, hiding it against the crates. She tied it to her bracer computer on an encrypted channel so she could monitor the prisoner from anywhere on the ship.

Satisfied with her efforts, she headed down to the flight deck, ordering clothing and a meal schedule for the prisoner. She would receive a high-protein diet, and be fed three times a day. Such a blasted nuisance, she thought in annoyance. She'd prefer to just go in, interrogate, and get out, leaving the care and feeding to someone else. Not this time, though.

The flight deck, she was relieved to see, had been cleared, and there was only minor damage to the hull plating. The G9 Rigger had been pushed over the side, and all the droids and supplies were secured. "Close it up!" she ordered the droids in the cargo bay control room.

The blast doors closed behind her with a dull booming that vibrated through the deck.

"Talus," she said through her comlink. "We're clear down here for flight."

"Is everything okay down there?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I'm just surprised you've been away so long. Kudos to you."

"Oh, get pulsed," she muttered under her breath. That was another thing people did: mutter under their breath.

"I heard that," he chuckled. "Will you be joining me on the bridge?"

"Eventually." She headed back to the engineering bay.

"Can you be a little more specific?"

"Give me twenty minutes."

"I'll be waiting." The comlink clicked off.

When she returned to the engineering bay, the girl was no longer in the sani-steam, and the droids were missing. Stang! she thought. "Where are you?" she yelled, bolting for the girl's cell. Where in blazes were those stupid clankers? They were supposed to be guarding her! Blast it! She rounded the corner of stacked crates and stopped.

The girl was in her cell, dressed in the thin white shift, ravenously eating a meal that had made it here ahead of her. The two droids guarding her stood on either side of the opening, and the force field was active. The girl stopped eating and looked up blindly, cocking her head as if listening. "Are you there, mistress?" she asked softly.

"How did you get back here?" she demanded.

"I—I waited, and when you did not return, I asked the droids to help me back," she answered. "Did I do something wrong?"

She turned on the droids. "You obey _my_ orders, not hers! Do you understand me?" she snapped.

"Your orders were to guard her," the closest one answered. "So, we did. You said nothing about not taking her back to her cell."

"Don't play semantics with me, you walking scrap pile! You are to obey me, not her! I don't care if she asks you to stand on one foot!"

"I—I'm sorry, mistress," the girl said. "I only meant to make things easier for you. I didn't want to be a burden."

"Be a—! You're a _prisoner!_ You're already a burden!" she exclaimed, becoming exasperated with this—this _child!_ This entire situation was rapidly spinning out of control. The girl was a _prisoner_, so why wasn't she acting like one? She should have been cowering in fear, not trying to be helpful! It wasn't_ natural!_

"I'm sorry, mistress," she apologized.

"Stop apologizing!" What in blazes was _wrong_ with her? She threw her hands up in frustration—something else she'd learned from holo-serials. "Just—just eat!" Grumbling to herself, she stormed off, trying to figure out just where she'd lost control of this situation. It seemed incomprehensible to her that this young girl could so easily put her in such a state of confusion, and she knew she'd have to regain control of the situation before she could interrogate her.

She would get to the bottom of this, she resolved on her way back to the bridge. One way or another, she would teach the girl to fear being a prisoner of the Ion Ascendancy, even if she had to beat it into her.

The irony didn't even occur to her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

His eyes opened, seeing nothing in the darkness except the last traces of his fading dream. He'd been back in the Oil district on Coruscant where he'd grown up, a greasy, filthy area full of out-of-work aliens and their families living in hovels and alleys. It wasn't far from the Works, an industrial jungle of steel and shadows stained with the traces of toxic waste and blood of those who'd died there. He'd known those streets and alleys like the back of his hand, and all the secrets they'd held.

As he lay in the darkness, he could almost taste the metallic air and smell the acrid odor of old hydrocarbons and oil. That place had taught him many things, and darkness held no fear for him after living there. Looking back on it now, he saw that it was a sort of furnace for him, refining the steel of his resolve and tempering his will to conquer such drab beginnings. He'd hated it at the time, of course, but it had been necessary to achieve the greatness that now lay just ahead of him, giving him the courage to seize opportunities that others would turn back from.

He got up and made his way to the sani-steam to wash up and prepare for the day. He didn't bother with the lights; his eyes were preternaturally sharp thanks to his ability to bend the Force to his will. It was a trick he'd learned early on, before he really began training in the ways of the Force, a result of his survival instincts adapting to the environment, and one that had served him well.

This was a momentous day, he thought to himself. Today, he would finally lay hands on the tools necessary to achieve greatness beyond the ken of normal men; today, he would step onto the path that would take him to the very pinnacle of success. No more would he be known as just another Inquisitor; his name would etched into the annals of history, and would earn the respect and admiration that he deserved.

After dressing, he meditated for an hour, going through the old memories one by one and dismissing their power over him. He was no longer the starveling caring for his sick mother, begging food and money, and depending on the charity of the Jedi for the medicine to keep his mother alive. He was a grown man, and more than that, he was a powerful Inquisitor with the resources of an entire Star Destroyer at his disposal. He no longer needed to depend on the Jedi; he hunted them, instead, a fitting end for their ignominious order. He held nothing but contempt and hatred for them, because it was their order that was responsible for the death of his mother.

As was his habit, he kept a journal so that he could one day write about his exploits—one last proof that he was better than any Jedi ever was. He would not rest until the last Jedi was dead and forgotten.

_I had a dream,_ he wrote, _in which I was back on Coruscant again. Not pleasant to remember, but only by reliving those experiences can I drain them of all they have to teach me, and wrest from them their control. It never ceases to amaze me at the detail that the mind is able to recall, even after all these years. For example, I can still recall the stains on the walls of the hovel where I lived with my mother, whom I cared for most of my childhood, and the way they spidered in the corners, like veins in a body._

The little efficiency apartment had reeked of mildew and t'bac smoke, and other less pleasant things, a miasma of vileness. There was little light inside, and the walls all seemed to be a uniform dingy tan color that might have once been a more pleasant shade of gold. It was claustrophobic in that apartment, and scurriers freely ran through the halls. He grew to hate them as much as he hated being poor and living in filth.

_How I hated that apartment. After I became an Inquisitor, I had that apartment razed. Now, it's just an empty hole in the side of the building. It was a crystallizing moment for me, the first of many telling me that I was on the path of greatness. It was also a metaphor for my past, which was cremated in that apartment fire, and as I watched it burn, it also occurred to me that it was a fitting tribute to my mother, purifying the memory of her of all the stains of pain and misery in that apartment where she spent the last of her life._

For him, keeping a journal was not only a way to prove that he had made something of himself, it was a catharsis. It was a way to exorcise the demons of his past that he had long ago slain.

_I suppose my father is due some gratitude, for if it had not been for his rampant alcoholism and physical and mental abuse of both me and my mother, I might never have finally had enough. _He laughed. Let future historians make of that what they would. _If anyone cared to search for him, they would have to look to the Coruscanti ogres for what was left of the corpse. When you fire a disruptor for the first time, and see that blindingly bright flash of light that leaves trails in your vision, you get a small taste of what _true_ power is._

After a violent fight with the old man, he'd killed him using a disruptor he'd bought from his Quarren employer, a scoundrel named Netessin who ran the Mynock Club not far from his house, then kicked what was left of the corpse off the sidewalk, watching it tumble through the darkness and vanish into the smoke that roiled in the depths. He offered no explanation to his mother, who actually wept over the disappearance of the _abo_. The loss of the intermittent income his father had brought in was barely felt since most of it he drank away.

He'd never gotten caught, either, because no one cared down there. Everyone knew that Brannik was a drunk, and a mean one at that; his disappearance was as unlamented as it was welcomed by almost everyone in the neighborhood.

Things actually got easier for him after that. He no longer had to worry about the physical fights he would get into with the old man, and no longer had to worry about the bastard stealing money from him and blaming it on his mother, or on him. The trade-off, though, was that he had to spend more time caring for his mother and running to the Jedi Temple for her medicine. He didn't mind this at all because for the first time, it was quiet in their house. No more arguments, no more bruises, just peace and quiet.

He touched the stylus to the flimsiplast. _The Jedi, unlike my father, deserved more than scorn for what they did, _he wrote. _They earned my undying hatred, for if it hadn't been for their arrogance and sense of superiority, my mother might have survived to this very day. They might have claimed that it was just an unintended tragedy of the Clone Wars, but I know they cut her off because of me, because I wasn't fit enough to join their Service Corps. _

_ Their smug expressions as they looked down on me and told me that I was too old and too angry to train in their Service Corps sealed their fate as far as I am concerned. When I went back several weeks later for another month's supply of the medicine my mother needed to treat her lungs, they claimed they had no more left to give. They tried telling me that they needed the medicine for the Clone Troopers fighting the Separatists. Everything was being rationed, they claimed. I saw through their lies, though. I am glad their flame is extinguished from the universe, and I am glad to have been a part of the cause that put that flame out._

He looked up from his desk and at the small holocube he kept on the shelf, displaying the image of his mother when she'd been healthy, in the prime of her youth. She looked so much happier, then, her long dark hair lustrous, and her eyes flashing with mirth. She'd been the reason he'd taken odd jobs for various criminals, including the job working for the Quarren thug named Netessin, running contraband that could have landed him in Kessel, if not dead. She'd been the only person he'd ever truly cared about, and he would have done anything for her.

A soft chime sounded, and a green light built into the desktop flashed, intruding on his thoughts. Annoyed, he pressed a button. "Yes?"

"We've just made the last jump to hyperspace before reaching the Coruscant system, my Lord," the voice of the Captain said.

So far, Captain Aiden had proven to be a congenial, resourceful man, and Nilas appreciated that as he had no patience for incompetence. In this, he and Vader had something in common. He'd feared that he would be saddled with an incompetent Captain who was just being put somewhere by the Imperial Naval Command where he was unlikely to do any damage, but those fears proved to be without merit, much to his relief.

"What is the estimated arrival time?" he asked.

"Five hours. We are proceeding at all haste as per your orders."

"Excellent. Have my shuttle fueled and ready."

"Very well, my Lord." The connection shut off.

Five hours, and the weapon would be his. That was all that mattered. Five hours until he crossed the line from pedestrian mediocrity to historical immortality. He called on his Adjutant. "Meet me in the training room, Paradas." She was another pleasant surprise that only confirmed in his mind that he was indeed destined for great things.

"Right away, my Lord," she answered.

Jaslin Paradas was an enigma that he was slowly unravelling. She'd surprised him with her professionalism and initiative. Taking advantage of the ensign's desire to climb the Imperial ladder, she'd insinuated her way into the lower ranks with guile that he hadn't thought she'd possessed. She was a prize indeed, an apprentice of no small skill, despite her relatively weak strength in the Force. Her ability to recognize her weaknesses and adapt, turning them into strengths was impressive, and as far as he was concerned, Vader was a fool if he didn't see her potential.

She would come with him, he decided, tapping the stylus against his chin. He'd been wanting to test her resolve for some time because he couldn't afford to have someone cringe at what would need to be done in the future if he was to walk amongst the gods. He needed someone he was sure would obey without question, and would stay quiet at not only the way he handled business, but who he handled it with. If he detected any hesitation, he would have to dispose of her, but he felt the flow of the Force, and felt that it was with him.

_Today, I go forth to take up the sword,_ he wrote, grinning. _Tomorrow, I go forth to conquer._

"Cross _down!_" he snapped. "Push the blade down and away, _then_ spin and block. When you push down, the enemy's reaction is most likely to be to spin with the momentum and slash."

She glared, fire in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Master, but it doesn't feel natural," she protested hotly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Nonetheless, it is the correct block. If you would flex your back more and push this out," he said, smacking her hard on her backside, causing her to yelp, "you wouldn't stumble half-way through the maneuver!"

Fury boiled in her large, dark brown eyes.

He smiled inwardly, hiding it from her. "Good. Feed your anger," he said, stepping back and raising his lightsaber. "Maybe then you'll actually manage to learn something!" She was controlling that anger, but just barely. She needed to learn to channel it, not just suppress it.

Snarling in rage, she began the forms again, beginning to move faster and more confidently through each stage. She thrust at his midsection and he blocked, then spun around, whirling so fast that the lightsaber blurred as it sped towards his neck. When he stepped back and performed the cross-down himself, batting the tip of her lightsaber down and away, she improvised and pushed down, almost severing the front half of his foot off as her blade swept past.

He leapt back, and she was on him in a flash, slashing high as she aimed for his neck again. This time, he stepped into the attack and blocked high, holding her blade back with his own only centimeters from his face. "Cross—"

She surprised him again, flicking off her lightsaber and dodging aside.

With her blade no longer there to push against, he stumbled forward, off-balance.

She spun, igniting her lightsaber and executing a downward-angled slash that would have cleaved him in twain had he not stumbled forward and came up facing her but out of her reach.

"Impressive," he said. It smacked of _Vaapad,_ and if he hadn't known better, he would've thought she'd received training in it. Such was impossible, of course. Mace Windu was dead, and so was Sora Bulq. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Do what?" she snarled, crouching in a defensive posture as she caught her breath and glared at him balefully.

"Extinguish the blade like that to cause an opponent to stumble off-balance."

She shrugged angrily. "It seemed the only sensible thing to do."

"Indeed." It _was_ a sensible thing to do, and what surprised him is that she had the presence of mind to do it. It usually took many years to develop those kinds of instincts; that she had learned to do such a thing so quickly hinted at the potential of being absolutely lethal in lightsaber combat. He could feel her anger pulsing and alive; she was finally learning some control over it, and her skill and strength were increasing as a result. There were still flaws in her form, and it was clear to anyone with even a gram of training that she was still uncomfortable with many of the positions and movements, but was so blasted fast! She adapted quickly to changing situations, and eschewed usual lightsaber combat techniques for ones that she seemed to make up on the fly. It was a dangerous habit for one who hadn't yet mastered the basic forms and positions, but she seemed to be excelling at it.

It was almost as if she could read his mind, yet, he knew that to be impossible. His mind was shielded using techniques any first year student learned to master while still an apprentice. Her own mind was wide open to him simply because of his skill, and it roiled with an almost primal lust besides the anger and rage that simmered just below the surface. She would have to learn to control that, too. He didn't care what she chose to do in her free time, or who she chose to do it with, so long as it did not interfere with his ascension to greatness. Right now, it was best that she have no pillow friends. He needed no accusations of impropriety floating amongst the Imperial Navy to mar his image or undermine his authority.

It was a relief, though, that she showed such a remarkable talent or one so new to the Force, and that she was improving so quickly. He'd originally feared that because she hadn't been trained from childhood, it would prove that much harder to train her, but such was proving not to be the case. Perhaps it was because of the fact that the forms had not been drilled into her all her life that she felt free to improvise. It had certainly caught him by surprise more than a couple of times. She reminded him of a crouched sandpanther, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of weakness.

"Well?" she sneered. Her muscles, clearly visible beneath the tight-fitting white shorts and camisole top she wore, were tensed in anticipation.

Frowning at her disrespectful tone, he launched into another attack, slicing horizontally across her mid-section, then spinning and slashing downward diagonally.

She leapt back to avoid the first slash, and used a high block to parry the vertical slash, then pushed his blade up and spun into his right side, trying to slash horizontally across his back. Any faster, and she would have severed his spinal cord.

He tumbled forward and her blade passed through empty air. He spun to meet her next attack, a back-handed slash aimed low, followed by a downward diagonal slash. Slowly, he gave ground, letting her tire herself out, though he, too, was getting worn down having to work to keep her flashing blade at bay. Her ragged breathing could be heard over the hum of the lightsabers, and she was beginning to grunt with the effort of each strike.

He, too, was growing tired, though it would be many minutes before he became fatigued. After a few minutes, he stepped back. It had been years since he'd so thoroughly enjoyed sparring with someone; droids just weren't the same. He was even sweating a little, but Paradas was drenched. He'd been watching her, though, studying her proficiency. She had a deadly grace to her, a fluidity of motion that spoke of the great potential he'd noticed before, although she still needed a _lot_ more practice.

"Who trained you?" he asked. "I assume it was done on Yaga Minor."

Crouched down in a defensive posture once more, she kept her eyes locked on his. "Droids," she panted, trying to catch her breath.

"Droids?" That seemed odd. Usually, there was always an instructor who was at least a Junior Inquisitor. "Who was the Inquisitor?"

"Inquisitrix," she corrected. "Mistress Kaida."

He laughed. "You poor child," he said. Mistress Kaida—she preferred the term Mistress to Lady—was something of a legend in the Inquisitorius. A tiny Kuati woman with delicately slanted eyes, porcelain skin, and long dark hair kept in a single braid, she eschewed the crimson zeyd-cloth cloak of the Inquisitorius and instead wore a dark red leather body suit with a high collar. This was allegedly because the dark red hid the blood-stains caused by her particular brand of "training."

She was what the higher-ups referred to as a "problem-solver;" she was given the tough cases who proved recalcitrant or head-strong, and broke them down through intense training, absolute obedience, and liberal use of stun rods. Her name, which meant, "Little Dragon," suited her perfectly, and if the rumors were true, she had a tattoo of a dragon that stretched from her left foot up to her right shoulder; no one had ever seen her out of that body suit, though, or if they had, they weren't telling.

"I did all right," she growled, grinning with an evil glint. "I was one of her favorites."

"Are the rumors true?" he asked. "Does she indeed have a tattoo?"

"Ask her yourself."

He launched into flurry of attacks, making her give ground rapidly as she fought to keep his lightsaber at bay. Their blades popped and sizzled with each block and parry, and eventually, he pinned her against the bulkhead. The tip of his blade pointed at the small hollow at the base of her throat. "Two years with the Little Dragon," he mused. "Too bad she didn't teach you better manners."

"Manners are for the weak!" she spat, flicking her lightsaber across his and rolling to the side. She quickly followed up with a series of thrust-slash combinations, pushing him back. When he would give no more ground, she leapt back and landed in the defensive crouch to catch her breath. "Mistress Kaida taught me that," she puffed, watching him warily. There was pride in her voice.

"What, the insolence, or the riposté?"

"Both."

He smiled. Her anger was in much better control, now. "I wasn't aware that Kaida employed droids. I've always heard that she was more…hands-on." The woman's sadistic nature was well-known, as was her propensity to use humiliation to break the spirit of her charges.

Paradas blushed as her eyes narrowed in anger. "She was sent for after I destroyed the third droid and tried killing the programmer," she hissed. "I wanted to be a stormtrooper."

He chuckled at the sudden understanding. The Empire still kept a few IG-110 lightsaber droids around, as did the Inquisitorius for training purposes, but they were expensive and not easy to replace since they were no longer produced. "An aspiration the Little Dragon broke you of."

Her eyes narrowed. "Mistress Kaida tried."

He could sense her reluctance to talk about it, and began another series of attacks to provide a distraction so she would continue talking. At one point, his lightsaber came close enough to sever her thin right shoulder strap, making her jump back and hold up the sagging side of her top. Any closer, and she would've needed to go to the medical bay.

She looked at the severed strap, then glared at him.

"In a real fight, there would be no time for mod—"

She didn't give him time to finish as she attacked, her anger barely in control.

He could sense the fury rolling off of her in waves as he blocked and parried her attacks. She was so blazing fast, spinning and slashing, then thrusting to force him back. He'd move to strike, only to find that she hadn't gone where the form said she should go and had instead come at him from a different angle. She stayed on the offensive, keeping him on the defensive every step. Only his reliance upon the Force to guide him kept him alive.

After several more minutes of trading attacks, she leapt back, her breathing ragged. "Mistress Kaida even showed me off to Lord Vader," she snarled, pulling up the sagging side of her top to keep from exposing herself. "He laughed at me, and told me that I should feel honored to be a part of the Inquisitorius."

Surprised by her vehemence, his suspicion that she may have been a pawn for Vader dwindled. Her anger was too potent to be the reaction of a simple cat's paw. It didn't surprise him that Kaida would've desired to show off one of her favorites—the Inquisitorius bred internal competition and intrigue like trash compactors bred dianogas.

"I kept my mouth shut," she growled. "Lord Vader doesn't suffer fools."

Little wonder, then, that he sensed a deep-seated shame in her that she tried so hard to hide. Not only had she been rejected as a potential member of the 501st Legion, the person she would have served as a stormtrooper, whom she had _dreamed_ of serving, had laughed at her.

"A wise decision," he said, extinguishing his lightsaber and clipping it to his belt. He walked over to the protocol droid and took a towel to wipe his forehead. "Sometimes," he said quietly, "it's better not to meet your heroes."

She scoffed and extinguished her lightsaber, but said nothing.

"If it's any consolation, your talents would have been wasted on Carida." He took another towel and handed it to her.

"If you say so, Master," she said miserably. She took the towel and wiped her neck and chest.

"I _know_ so, Paradas. There is still honor and recognition to be found in serving the Inquisitorius."

She looked away.

He could sense her doubts, but turned the conversation in a different direction. "You were on Yaga Minor for two years?"

She nodded. "Mistress Kaida was the one who sent me back to Prefsbelt. She said my naval training would help round out my education since I had come to the attention of the Inquisitorius so late," she explained. "Lord Vader warned me to serve any Inquisitor I was assigned to and obey him or her without question, or else."

That sounded just like Vader; the Dark Lord had no qualms about Force-choking any officer or underling who failed him. "And will you?" he asked in amusement.

She glared at him. "I have no choice, _Master_," she growled.

He grinned inwardly. Paradas was just full of pluck! "I'm sure Lord Vader will appreciate your efforts."

Her eyes narrowed in anger. "I got the distinct impression that I was _beneath_ his notice."

He chuckled, familiar with that impression himself. "I believe you're in good company in that matter when dealing with him. _Everyone_ is beneath his notice."

Her lips thinned into a line, but she said nothing.

She was _still_ plagued by feelings of loyalty to Vader, he realized with an inward sigh. Well, when you grew up idolizing someone who seemed to stand for something in a galaxy full of chaos, it wasn't an easy thing to let go of such sentiments, he supposed. In a way, he was almost envious; what had Vader ever done to deserve such loyalty from her? Absolutely nothing, he answered himself, and that was the rub.

"We're done for the day, Paradas," he said, turning away and heading for the door. "Meet me in the hangar bay in two hours." They'd arrive in the Coruscant system within the hour, and then, he'd go and take delivery of something that would earn him the favor of Grand Inquisitor Torbin himself. He would almost be on par with Vader for sure, then.

Today would be not only a day for testing his apprentice's obedience, but the day he would pick up a weapon which, if it worked, would mark a whole new chapter in the quiet war against the Jedi. He would test it first on the Twi'lek woman, and if it proved successful, he would soon have an army of Force-user that he wouldn't have to waste time turning—they would be slavishly loyal to him from the start.

After cleaning up and dressing, he went to a special chamber attached to his quarters. It was a perfect square, all surfaces matte black. There were two circles in its center, one of which was connected to the _Fury's_ Holonet transceiver. As he stepped into one circle, the room's single recessed light came on, shining a cone of white illumination down on him.

A few minutes later, a holo-image appeared in the other circle less than a meter away. A cloaked and hooded Quarren stood before him, the same Quarren he'd once worked for to survive. "Greetings," he gurgled in Basic. "The package has been delivered to the location you requested."

It was Netessin who'd given him his first job running errands for his little criminal empire that the Quarren ran out of the Mynock Club in the Oil District. Drugs, information, weapons, money, and anything else Netessin needed moved, Nilas ran.

When Nilas entered the Inquisitorius, he didn't forget about Netessin, or the crime lord's unique skill set. The Quarren was a veritable font of obscure information, and could speak a dozen languages. He had contacts all over the galaxy and in every strata of society, and was involved in a dozen different ventures at any given time. Over the years that Nilas had kept him on retainer for just such reasons, he became convinced that there was nothing the Quarren couldn't find if the price was right.

Such dealings required a great deal of discretion, though, and he had ensured privacy in his communications with Netessin. In addition to the Imperial encryption the ship's Holonet transceiver used, the holoplate used in this chamber was further encrypted with protocols unknown by the Empire.

"Good," he answered Netessin. It always made him smile to think of how far he'd come, and nothing exemplified that more than the fact that he now commanded his former boss on Coruscant. "We'll be arriving shortly. Are there any security measures I should be aware of?"

"Only Reetak."

"Who is Reetak?"

"A Rodian employee of no consequence. He will give you no trouble."

"He will have to die." He wanted no witnesses and knew the Quarren would send along someone loyal enough to guard the package, which is why he was bringing along Paradas. He had to make sure she would kill without hesitation.

"His loss matters not."

He smiled. Netessin was both pragmatic and phlegmatic—nothing really riled him or bothered him in the least, and he never worried over the loss of small things, like a minor underling. Such was the cost of doing business in the criminal underworld, after all.

He was sure that the Quarren had probably figured that something like this might happen so had probably sent along someone loyal enough to guard the package, but whose importance in the overall scheme of things was small enough that his untimely demise would affect nothing.

"Once I take delivery, you will be paid in the usual way," he told him. Maybe this time he would add a small bonus—he'd been looking forward to getting his hands on this device for a long time. "Does it work? I'm not paying for damaged junk."

"It's in the condition it was in when it was stolen. Whether it works or not is out of my control."

"Very well. I'll contact you after pick-up." He cut the connection. Netessin was loyal as far as Quarren went, and was a paragon of discretion, but Nilas had been far too cautious to rely on appearances. Upon becoming a full Inquisitor, he'd set out to reverse the power dynamic in their relationship, and with the resources of the Inquisitorius, had turned up information that bound the Quarren to him closer than even money could.

Apparently, Drafulla the Hutt had once employed Netessin long before he'd come to Coruscant, and right before he took his leave of her and Nar Shadda, money had come up missing—a lot of it. Drafulla's nephew, Gordo, had taken the blame thanks to the Quarren's careful planning and was exiled to Tatooine to die either at the hands of Jabba or by his congenital heart defect. The last Nilas had heard, however, Gordo was thriving, which meant Nilas had not one but _two_ levers to control Netessin. A single message to him, or his aunt, would spell the end of Netessin, and the Quarren knew it.

Still, Nilas could afford to be generous, and paid the Quarren very well, knowing it would make things easier if he used the diplomacy of greed rather than blackmail. For years, Netessin had delivered on time, every time, no matter what Nilas had needed him to find, or whom, and he rewarded such loyalty.

Of course, the Inquisitorius would scream bloody murder if the administrative heads knew that he was associating with a Quarren, especially if they found out he used to work for that Quarren; COMPNOR would be howling for his blood if it came out. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, though. Why should he dirty his hands—his _human_ hands, no less—when there was an alien perfectly willing and capable of doing the dirty work?

If he was successful, the Emperor himself might grant him higher station, and probably let him keep the Twi'lek as well. Appointing him as the new Grand Inquisitor was a very real possibility, but Nilas' aspirations were higher than that. Grand Inquisitor was only a stepping stone for him, and either way, the Inquisitorius and COMPNOR wouldn't be able to touch him, and Vader could take a flying leap into the Maw.

After cleaning up, he headed down to the forward shuttle bay where his personal shuttle was berthed to one side. Other crewmen and officers quickly found somewhere else to be as soon as they saw him coming. He didn't think he was as bad as all that—he wasn't like Vader, who would kill someone for the occasional mistake. Well, maybe he was a little, but they had to be _bad_ mistakes.

How ironic, he thought, chuckling to himself. What Vader had so casually cast aside, he would now use to help him undermine the Dark Lord in the eyes of the Emperor. More the fool him, the mused. Paradas' strength in the Force wasn't all that strong, but she was a natural-born duelist if he'd ever seen one. If nothing else, it showed that Vader wasn't omniscient like some of those superstitious fools in the Imperial hierarchy seemed to believe, and if Vader could make mistakes, then Nilas could capitalize on them.

Correction, he thought to himself. He _would_ capitalize on them.


End file.
